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COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS 

No. XVI. 


THE 


DIARY OF A WOMAN 


FROM THE FRENCH OF 

OCTAVE FEUILLET 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
549 BROADWAY 551 




✓ 



COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS, 

No. XVI. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS. 


I. SAMUEL BROHL AND COMPANY. A Novel. From the 
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II. GERARD'S MARRIAGE. A Novel. From the French of 
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V. META HOLDENIS. A Novel. From the French of Victor 
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VI. ROMANCES OF THE EAST. From the French of Comte 
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VII. RENEE A.ND FRANZ (Le Bleuet). From the French of 
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VIII. MADAME GOSSELIN. From the French of Louis Ulbach. 
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IX. THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS. From the French of 
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X. ARIADNE. From the French of Henry GrÉville. Paper cover, 
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XV. TALES FROM THE GERMAN OF PAUL HEYSE. 
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XVI. '1 HE DIARY OF A WOMAN. From the French of Octave 
Feuillet. Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents. 


THE 


DIARY OF A WOMAN 


FROM THE FRENCH OF 

/ 

OCTAVE FEUILLET 

II 

AUTHOR OF “ THE ROMANCE OF A TOOK YOUNG MAN,” ETC. 



NEW YOKE 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
549 AND 551 BROADWAY 
1879 

l /?7«] 

t 




COPYRIGHT BY 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1878 . 


He who signs these pages is, properly speaking, 
only the editor of them. How they came to be 
intrusted to him, how he was authorized to publish 
them, what modifications of detail were imposed 
upon him, are questions for which the reader will 
care little if this autobiography interests him, and 
still less if it does not. 


t 


* ■ 








THE DIAET OF A WOMAN. 


PART FIRST. 

May , 1872. 

When I was at the convent, my quarterly re- 
ports almost invariably ended with this definition 
of my moral person : “ Happy character, judicious 
mind, gravity beyond her years, well-balanced na- 
ture. Conscience, however, a little uneasy.” 

“ Conscience a little uneasy ”■ — I do not deny it ; 
but as to the rest, asking pardon of these ladies, I 
must be allowed to assert the direct opposite. As 
my beloved instructresses were mistaken, it is not 
astonishing that the world should be deceived also. 
I fancy that the cause of these false judgments is 
my external appearance. I am a dark brunette and 
pale ; my expression, of a tiresome unchangeability, 
is as severe as that of a young girl can be. Some- 


8 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


what pronounced near-sightedness lends a look of 
sleepy indifference to my black eyes (whose brilliancy 
would without this troublesome circumstance cer- 
tainly be too striking). Besides, I have naturally a 
calm manner of speaking, walking, sitting, and of 
moving noiselessly, which gives an observer an illu- 
sory impression of tranquil serenity. I have neither 
the desire nor the means of correcting the opinion of 
the public in this respect ; and, until there is a new 
order of things, my locked diary alone will know 
that this grave, wise, and well-balanced Charlotte is 
at heart an excessively romantic and impulsive young 
person. 

And this is precisely why I am so late in begin- 
ning this magnificent locked diary, which was bought 
with enthusiasm three days after I left the convent, 
and has waited three years for my first confidences. 
Twenty times have I seated myself before its white 
pages, burning — like King Midas’s barber — to in- 
trust my secrets to them ; twenty times my “uneasy 
conscience ” has made me throw aside my pen. This 
conscience said to me that I was about to undertake 
an imprudent and foolish thing ; that the habit of 
recording my impressions, of analyzing my emotions, 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


9 


of nursing my dreams and giving a body to them, 
would have one inevitable consequence — that of 
bringing to the surface those romantic and passion- 
ate depths which are dangerous to a woman, which 
might prove fatal to the repose and dignity of my 
life, and which I ought rather to force myself un- 
ceasingly to suppress and extinguish. 

Something my grandmother said this evening 
has, thank Heaven! removed these scruples. We 
had had some people to dinner. Afterward we 
played the game of “ secretary,” which consists of 
writing questions on slips of paper, folding them, 
and shaking them together in a basket ; each player 
draws a question by chance, and replies to it as best 
he may. But one of our guests, a young deputy 
who prides himself on his profundity, always man- 
aged in some way to keep his own question in order 
to reply to it the more brilliantly. On one occasion 
he asked himself, “What kind of a woman best 
performs her duty ? ” I was charged with the col- 
lection of the little slips, and I read his question 
and at the same time his reply, which was worded 
thus : “ The woman who best performs her duty is 
one who does not seek romance in life, for no real 


io 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


good comes of it ; who does not seek poetry in it, 
for duty is not poetic ; who does not seek in it pas- 
sion, for passion is only a polite name for vice.” 

A concert of flattering murmurs, in which I had 
the cowardice to join, greeted this elegant maxim, 
during which the author betrayed his incognito by 
a modest smile. He was disconcerted, however, by 
an exclamation from my grandmother, who had 
abruptly suspended her netting. “ Oh ! oh ! pardon 
me ! ” cried she, “ but I cannot let such heresies 
pass before these young women. Under pretext of 
making dutiful women, would you make fools, 
young puritan ? In the first place, I do not under- 
stand this mania for always opposing passion to duty 
— passion on this side, duty on that — as if one were 
necessarily the opposite of the other. But we can 
put passion into duty, and we not only can, but 
ought ; and I would even say, my dear sir, that this 
is the secret of the lives of virtuous women, for 
duty all by itself is very dry, I assure you. You 
say that it is not poetic. That is certainly my opin- 
ion, but it must become so before any one can take 
pleasure in it ; and it is precisely in rendering vul- 
gar duty poetic that these romantic dispositions, 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


11 


against which you hurl your anathemas, serve us. 
If you ever marry, choose a woman who is not ro- 
mantic, and see what will come of it.” 

“ What will come of it ? ” said the young deputy. 

“Well, it will turn out that everything in her 
life will seem flat and insipid — her husband first, if 
you will excuse me ; then her fireside, her children, 
even her religion. Ah ! surely it is not against ro- 
mantic ideas that the present generation has need of 
guarding itself, my dear sir, I assure you ; the danger 
for the moment is not there ; we do not perish from 
enthusiasm, we perish from platitude. But to re- 
turn to our humble sex, which is alone in question : 
Look at the women whom they talk about in Paris 
— I mean those whom they talk about too much ; 
is it their poetic imagination that blinds them ? Is 
it the search for the ideal that misleads them ? Ah, 
great Heaven, three-fourths of them have the emp- 
tiest brains and the barrenest imaginations in crea- 
tion ! Ladies, and especially you young ladies,” added 
my grandmother, “ believe me, do not fetter your- 
selves. Be enthusiastic, be as romantic as you choose. 
Try to have a grain of poetry in your heads ; you 
will be the more easily virtuous and the more sin- 


12 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


cerely liappy. Poetic sentiment at the fireside of a 
woman is like the music and incense of a church ; 
it is the charm of right living ! ” 

So spoke my dear grandmother, God bless her ! 
and that is why I have opened my precious locked 
diary at midnight, and why, in peace with my con- 
science, I dare say to myself, “ Good-night, romantic 
and impulsive Charlotte ! ” 


May 20th. 

Yesterday I was in my boudoir, torturing my 
piano and perfecting myself in my vocal exercises, 
when Cécile de Stèle, my friend from childhood and 
my dearest companion at the convent, rushed in like 
a whirlwind as usual, seized my hands, turned her 
two rosy cheeks to me, and said, in her vehement 
and affectionate way, “ Charlotte, are you always 
and ever my dear sister, my guide, my support, my 
little spiritual mother, my golden heart, and my ivory 
tower \ ” 

“ Why this litany, dear % ” 

“Because you can do me an immense service. 
Fancy that my father is going away — ” 

“ The general going to leave Paris ? ” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


13 


“ Oh ! only for a few weeks. He is going to 
make a tour of inspection in the provinces. Mean- 
while he sends me into the country, to my aunt de 
Louvercy, on the Eure, in the heart of the woods. 
My annt is the best of women, bnt she lives alone 
in her château with her son, my cousin Roger, you 
know, who has been half mad since he was so fright- 
fully wounded in the war ; poor fellow ! he has no 
longer a human figure — no arms, no legs ! It is the 
greatest pity, you know, but — you can fancy what a 
household it is! So I said to my father, 6 1 will 
go, but it will be exile, despair, it will be death — at 
least unless you allow me to take Charlotte d’Erra 
with me!’ ‘ Take Charlotte d’Erra,’ said my father 
— and I take thee ! ” 

“ But, my dear little — ” 

“ Ah ! do not say no, I beg of you, or I shall 
expire at your feet! Make this sacrifice for me. 
Besides, who knows ? we may not be so much bored, 
perhaps ; we can wander off by ourselves, we can 
ride on horseback, we can play duets. And then, 
too, there are several neighbors about there ; indeed, 
my dear, we shall turn their heads, you with your 
insolent beauty, I with my little — with whatever 


14 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


attractions there are which are peculiar to me, and 
which people commonly call ‘ canine . 5 55 

I frowned and said, in my gravest contralto, 
“ What do you mean, Cécile \ 55 

She leaned upon her elbows with an air of bra- 
vado, and, showing me her little pointed teeth, she 
repeated, “ Canine ! 55 

“ Who taught you that nonsense ? 55 

“ My father ! 55 said she. 

“ I fancy your mother would scold your father 
if she were living . 55 

She looked at me fixedly with her large, clear 
eyes, which filled with tears ; she kissed my hands, 
and resumed in a low, supplicating tone, “ You will 
come, will you not ? 55 

“But, my darling, I cannot leave my grand- 
mother . 55 

“Your grandmother! I am to take her also. I 
have thought of everything ; I have written to my 
aunt, and here is a pressing invitation, in her own 
handwriting, for your grandmother. Take me to 
her ! 55 

Two minutes after, Cécile precipitated herself 
into the salon , pushing the door open abruptly. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


15 


My grandmother, whom the least noise startles, 
sprang trembling to her feet. “ Ah ! good Heavens ! 
there has been an accident ! I am sure something 
has happened. Tell me at once ; what is it ? what 
is it ? ” 

“ It is a letter from my annt de Louvercy, ma- 
dame.” 

“ Ah ! poor Mme. de Lonvercy ! Poor woman ! 
How is she ? What trials she has had ! And her 
poor son! Ah! poor souls! Well, what does she 
want of me ? ” 

“If you will have the goodness to read, ma- 
dame ? ” 

My dear grandmother read the letter and as- 
sumed a thoughtful air ; when she raised her eyes, 
she saw Cécile kneeling at her feet upon the car- 
pet, her hands clasped, and her pretty, dimpled face 
upturned. 

“ Truly ! do you see that ?” said my grandmoth- 
er. “ Bless her little heart ! ” 

“ You will go, madame ? ” said Cécile. 

“ Really ! my dear child,” replied my grand- 
mother, kissing her forehead, “ I must say that as a 
general rule I greatly dislike these sudden moves ; 


16 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


I have a profound horror of them. But, in the 
first place this is a little holiday arranged between 
you and Charlotte; and, in the second, Mme. de 
Louyercy sends me such a pressing and affectionate 
appeal ; she inspires in me besides so much compas- 
sion, poor woman ! However, understand me well, 
so far as incommoding myself is concerned : I like 
to have time to seriously settle down for a while. 
To go to a place in order to come away again, to 
unpack my trunks just to repack them, without 
stopping to take breath : none of that for me ! I 
certainly would not wish to impose myself upon 
your aunt, but let us see — how long is this invita- 
tion for ? ” 

“For as long as you please, madame ; six weeks 
— two months.” 

“ Ah ! very good ! that is even too much ! ” said 
my grandmother. 

In short, it was agreed that the Countess d’Erra 
and I should go in a fortnight, and join my friend 
Cécile, who started yesterday, at Louvercy. Ten 
days will hardly be enough for our preparations, 
which are considerable, as one can judge by this 
simple detail, that my grandmother will take with 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


17 


her her large folding screen, in order to gnard 
against the currents of air, which mnst rage, she 
says, in an old chateau. I survey this astonishing 
packing with apparent tranquillity, dreaming secret- 
ly of belfries, of northern towers, of galleries full of 
ancestors and ghosts, and also of that poor mutilated 
and suffering being who doubtless mingles his com- 
plaints with the moanings of the wind in the long 
corridors. All this, alas ! enchants me. 

May 23 d. 

I received this morning a letter from Cécile, 
which presents the sojourn at Louvercy in new 
colors, less sombre but perhaps less attractive to me. 
Here it is, word for word : 

“Château de Louvercy, May 2 1th.” 

“ My dearest, you are going to shudder — it was 
all a plot ! In whom can we trust henceforth ? My 
father, my aunt, both so generally esteemed, whose 
lives up to this time have been so irreproachable, 
have united in a dark conspiracy against a weak 
child Î 

“ It was Monday ; at five o’clock in the evening, 
I arrive at the station (where, parenthetically, there 


18 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


is a blind man who plays the Marseillaise upon his 
flageolet ; I tell you this, that you may stop at this 
station and not at any other). I arrive, then, at the 
station and fall into the amis of my aunt. ‘ My 
dear aunt ! 5 ‘ My dear niece, how do you do ? 5 We 
get into the carriage. Before we had exchanged 
four words, I felt some mystery in the air — embar- 
rassment on the part of my aunt, mysterious lan- 
guage, covert allusions. There are several people at 
the château ; they feared it would be too wearisome 
for me before the arrival of my friend Charlotte. 
‘ Ah, my aunt, can you think so ? 5 They have 
gathered a little circle of companions suitable to my 
age ; two young women, relatives of the late M. 
de Louvercy, Mmes, de Sauves and de Chagres. 
‘ Thank you, aunt . 5 Then their husbands — ‘ Bravo, 
aunt ! 5 And the two brothers of these ladies, very 
agreeable young men, remarkably agreeable— (aside 
uneasily) ‘ Ahem ! ahem ! 5 (aloud with indifference) 
‘Indeed, aunt ? 5 ‘And tell me, have you brought 
some pretty dresses ? 5 — ‘ Ordinary ones, aunt, I was 
so far from expecting to find any one with you ! 5 
—‘At your age, my child, one should always be 
prepared ! 5 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


19 


“ Do you seize the situation, my child ? Does 
the conspiracy dawn upon you ? Can you see the 
picture spread out before you ? 

“ At last we enter the grounds of the château ; 
on one side there is a little lake, with swans floating 
upon its surface, and upon the banks stand Mmes, 
de Sauves and de Chagres, with their husbands and 
their ‘ remarkable 5 brothers, forming an interest- 
ing family group. I bow, I blush, I spring to the 
ground ; I embrace Mmes, de Sauves and de Cha- 
gres, and I run quickly to change my dress, while 
the echo repeats behind me : £ She is charming ! 
she is charming ! ’ 

“ My suspicions, which were inordinately awak- 
ened from the first moment, were confirmed in the 
evening, the next day, and the day following. My 
aunt’s sinister château is suddenly transformed ; it 
is an abode of pleasure, an enchanted dwelling, the 
scene of delightful fêtes and chivalrous tournaments, 
with a vague odor of orange-blossoms in the by-ways. 
Walks in the morning, cavalcades in the afternoon, 
dances and charades in the evening. Personally I 
am spoiled, indulged, idolized. My tastes are con- 
sulted, my least desires are understood, divined, ful- 


20 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


filled, before I express them. There is a touching 
emulation. I secretly wish for a bouquet of camel- 
lias ; behold it ! A box of bonbons from Boissier’s ; 
behold it ! A red parrot ; behold the parrot ! A 
gilded cage to put it in ; behold the cage ! The 
moon ; behold the moon ! 

“ You see, my dearest, how grave the circum- 
stances are. There is no longer the shadow of a 
doubt. My perfidious aunt and my guilty father 
have resolved to marry me at once. There are two 
aspirants, between whom I am given a choice. 
Allow me to present them to you. Mmes, de Sau- 
ves and de Chagres have each a brother, and these 
two young men, who are cousins, bear the same 
family name, MM. Bene and Henri de Yalnesse. 
Here I am reminded of the historical parallels in 
which you excelled at the convent (between Charles 
Y. and Francis I. for example ; do you remember? 
If one was the more skillful politician, the other 
was the greater warrior, etc.). To apply to MM. 
de Yalnesse this figure of rhetoric, I wfill tell you 
that, if one is dark, the other is light ; that if one 
finds eye-glasses necessary, the other makes use of a 
single glass ; that one sings sentimental ballads 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


21 


which make me weep, and the other comic songs 
which make me langh ; that both look equally well 
on foot and on horseback ; that both are good 
waltzers, agreeable in conversation, perfectly culti- 
vated, possessed of equal fortunes, and both, if I 
can believe certain appearances, equally disposed to 
place these fortunes at the feet of the innocent per- 
son who writes these lines. 

“ You will ask, ‘ Is your choice made V hTo, 
my angel, my choice is not made. They please me 
very nearly in the same degree ; and, as I cannot 
marry both, I await the wise Charlotte, that I may 
take her advice and feel a preference. 6 Thy choice 
will be my choice, and thy God will be my God ! ’ 
Come, then, my dearest, without delay ; for this 
suspense is terrible, and you understand that there 
would be little humanity in leaving the tenderest 
of friends in so violent a situation. 

“ Cécile de Stèle. 

“ P. S. — All this time my poor cousin Roger re- 
mains sombre and savage in his tower, and goes out 
only to run over the country in a panier , to which 
he attaches the most vicious horses. My aunt pre- 


22 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


tends that he chooses them expressly, and that he 
wishes to kill himself. Very sad, is it not ? Fare- 
well, dearest ; come quickly.” 

This letter has troubled me very much. Cécile 
is almost a sister to me. Although we are of the 
same age, there has always been a slight maternal 
tinge in the affection I have felt for her. The 
great event which is preparing for her fills me with 
emotion ; with joy, but also with anxiety. I wish 
so much that she may be happy ! She so thorough- 
ly deserves to be so, dear child ! Her nature is so 
affectionate, so gracious, so sincere ! Her head is a 
little giddy, perhaps, but her heart is sound and 
pure, always submissive, always prompt to repent. 
There is in her, as she likes to repeat, something of 
the angel and the demon, but particularly of the 
angel. This frivolous, impulsive, affectionate creat- 
ure seems to me, more than most women, to need 
to be well married, well loved, and well guided. 

I also greatly dread the responsibility that her 
loving confidence imposes upon me. I am very 
young and very inexperienced to direct the choice 
on which her destiny depends. At least I shall 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


23 


throw into it all my zeal and all my conscience. It 
seems to me that I shall be more exacting for her 
than I would be for myself even. MM. de Yal- 
nesse will do well to be on their guard. Behold, 
the archangel cometh with the flaming sword, who 
watches at the gate of paradise ! 


Château de Louyercy, June 6 th. 

My dream is realized ; there is a northern tower, 
and my room is actually in it ! It is charming ! 
But let us proceed in order. My grandmother 
and I arrived this afternoon. On getting out of 
the car, we saw at once the blind man and his flag- 
eolet; then Mme. de Louvercy and Cécile in an 
open landau ; also, two cavaliers caracoling about in 
the little square before the station, calming by voice 
and hand their horses, which the whistle of the loco- 
motive had frightened. By a furtive glance from 
Cécile, I recognized the two aspirants to her hand, 
and I made a curious inspection of their persons, 
while they apparently paid me the same compli- 
ment. My first impression was favorable. The 
two faces are reassuring, gay, and frank — the faces 
of honest men. My heart is easier on that score. 


24 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


We rolled along over the white road, in the 
midst of a cloud of dust, with a cavalier at each door 
of the carriage as escort. Normandy apple-trees, 
with their clusters of pink blossoms, lined the way 
on the right and left. The sky was of a delicate, 
opaline blue. Cécile, in a toilet of the color of the 
heavens, fairly beamed with pleasure, pressed my 
hands, and threw a smile, now on this side, now on 
that, to maintain a balance, and we were happy. 
How good it is to live sometimes ! 

I had not seen Mme. de Louvercy for several 
years. She has grown astonishingly old. Her hair 
is quite white, forming a marvelous frame for her 
beautiful, sad face. Under her eyes she has two 
bluish furrows, which have certainly been caused 
by tears. She speaks little of her griefs, and gener- 
ally only by allusion. On the way to the chateau I 
heard her telling my grandmother how the unfor- 
tunate condition of her son had absorbed her en- 
tirely for a long time ; but that she ought to have 
remembered that Cécile had no longer a mother, 
and that she had a duty toward her also to perform. 
All this was said in a tone of extreme reserve, with- 
out dwelling upon it, and with a smile of kindly 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


25 


welcome, very touching on this background of in- 
consolable sadness. The poor woman is so much 
the more to be pitied as her son was charming, they 
say, before he met with this horrible wound, which 
has mutilated, crippled, and disfigured him. 

The noise of the wheels is suddenly muffled upon 
the turf and moss ; we enter the avenue under a 
leafy arch, at the end of which I see the elegant 
and severe façade of the chateau, in the Renaissance 
style I believe. Here is the court, which is at the 
same time a flourishing garden ; there the swans 
which beat their wings at our approach ; Mmes, de 
Sauves and de Chagres, who wave their handker- 
chiefs on the veranda, while their husbands throw 
away their cigars and wave their hats. It is a tri- 
umph ! They are very goodly to look upon, these 
two young families, and they promise well. 

A moment after, my grandmother and I are in- 
stalled in our apartment by Cécile. While I brush 
off the dust of travel, she interrogates me feverish- 
ly : “Well ! Tell me quickly, at a glance, how do 
they strike you ? ” 

“ I like them very much ; they are very charm- 
mg.” 


2 


26 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“ Truly ? — let me embrace you ! but which do 
you prefer — tell me quickly, the blonde or the bru- 
nette, M. René or M. Henri ? ” 

“ So far I prefer neither the one nor the other ; 
and you, little one — ” 

“ Did I not write you that I should wait for you 
before I could feel a preference? You are to tell 
me which you prefer, and I will accept him. 5 ’ 

“ I assure you, Cécile, your confidence appalls 
me.” 

“ Listen. I am going to put you between the 
two gentlemen at dinner ; you are to study them, 
to sound them thoroughly, do you understand ? I 
will tell you what I want to know, and upon what 
you are to examine them particularly, and after din- 
ner you are to render me a strict account of the 
result. Well, now, I desire to know first which of 
tlie two has the more true and enduring affection 
for me ; then — and this is very important — which 
has the better character ; then, which is the more 
intelligent and cultivated, for I desire a husband 
who will do me honor ; then, which has the more 
generous and charitable soul — I think much of this 
detail ; then, which is fonder of travel, for I con- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


27 


sider that important also ; then which — do not laugh, 
Charlotte, it is very serions ! ” 

“I langh, Cécile, because you really ask too 
much for a single sitting. Still I will bend all my 
energies to it. I will do my best.” 

Cécile leaves me with my maid, and I prepare 
myself for dinner. I put on a very simple dress, 
the modest toilet of a confidante ; dark colors, square- 
necked waist, lace, and a red rose in my hair, à 
V Espagnole. I am not a fright, and that suffices. 

Before the second bell sounds, I have time 
enough left to examine my apartment. It sur- 
passes my hopes. It might be the chamber of a 
captive princess, hung in grand, old, mysterious 
tapestries, and having deep-set windows, like a 
chapel. I am, as I have said, in the north tower ; 
this tower is a very high, square pavilion, with a 
feudal aspect, and of a much more ancient date 
than the rest of the chateau, of which it forms the 
right wing. It is especially dedicated to the use of 
M. Koger. de Louvercy, who can more easily satisfy 
his taste for solitude and isolation there. They 
even raised, a while ago, a transverse trellis, dis- 
guised as a palisade, which serves as a barrier, so to 


28 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


speak, between tbe chateau and the tower, and which 
enables this unfortunate young man to live com- 
pletely by himself, when it suits him, as is always 
the case when his mother is not alone, for he has 
taken an unhappy fancy that to everybody but his 
mother he is an object of horror and disgust. Sev- 
eral buildings, recently constructed, form his special 
court, where he has his stables and kennels, and 
which has an egress into the oj^en country. He can 
thus go and come without crossing the principal 
court. 

M. Roger occupies the apartments upon the 
ground-floor, while my grandmother and I are on 
the first story. We were admitted into this sacred 
place, as Cécile says, as being the most quiet of the 
guests. We are, besides, in communication with 
the chateau by corridors on each story, and can 
move about freely without the fear of meeting M. 
de Louvercy. Cécile, however, has warned us that 
he sometimes goes up to the second story to write 
in his library ; “ But,” added she, “ nothing will be 
easier for you than to avoid him, poor boy ! You 
will hear his crutch on the staircase.” 

Notwithstanding this safeguard, I confess I se- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


29 


cretly promised myself to take the first opportunity 
to look at this sombre deformity ; my curiosity has 
just this moment been satisfied, and at the same 
time punished, for my sympathetic compassion for 
his great misfortune can hardly survive the shock 
of what I have seen and heard. The window of 
my dressing-room opens upon the little court, where 
the stables reserved for the special use of M. de 
Louvercy are. I had just fastened the red rose in 
my lace, when this court suddenly resounded with a 
confused tumult of trampling, barking, calling, im- 
patient clamor, and, I must say, of frightful swear- 
ing. I drew aside the curtain lightly, and I saw, 
first, two enormous Newfoundland dogs jumping at 
the nose of a horse, which was all white with sweat 
and foam ; then, a kind of basket dog-cart, and in 
it M. de Louvercy, very easily recognizable by his 
mutilated arm and leg. As for his face, I could 
distinguish only two long blonde mustaches, drawn 
down à la Tartare. M. de Louvercy was calling in 
a furious tone two servants, who doubtless did not 
expect him so soon, and who were running like mad. 
He greeted them with a volley of savage words, 
during which they assisted him to descend from the 


30 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


carriage. I had quickly drawn the curtain, and saw 
no more. I was overcome ; this shocking sight de- 
stroys for me all the effect produced by his misfor- 
tune. My dear neighbor, we shall hardly he very 
neighborly ! 

At last we are at table. Cécile has placed me, 
according to her programme, between the two young 
rivals. I have M. de Yalnesse the brunette on my 
right, and on my left M. de Yalnesse the blonde; 
an arrangement, by-the-way, which seems to aston- 
ish Mme. de Louvercy much. Cécile sits opposite 
us, in order to better watch my operations. She is 
beside the curé of Louvercy, whom she endeavors 
to make laugh when he drinks. She laughs heartily 
herself, at the same time warning me with her eyes 
to do my duty. She evidently thinks that I am 
showing a little weakness. The truth is, I am meet- 
ing with unforeseen difficulties; MM. de Yalnesse 
are both very polite, but they do not lend them- 
selves to my investigation ; they hardly reply to 
me ; something seems to paralyze them ; they look 
at me with a sort of uneasy stupor; they appear 
much preoccupied with the red rose in my hair. 
But that is not the point, my dear friends. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


31 


We were hardly out of the dining-room when 
Cécile took me aside. “Well! what have you dis- 
covered \ ” 

“ I have discovered that they are timid ; that is 
something already.” 

“ Timid ! ” echoed Cécile, “ because you do not 
encourage them enough. You must encourage 
them if you want them to become familiar and 
gain confidence.” 

That appeared reasonable to me. I did encour- 
age them gently, and, in fact, with the aid of the 
coffee, I found them becoming pliable, little by 
little. They both sang for me. Both asked me to 
waltz repeatedly, and after each waltz I kept them 
a moment for a chat. Meanwhile Cécile wandered 
about in the strangest fashion, now bursting into 
causeless laughter, now tossing the music about 
on the piano ; suddenly she disappeared, and, 
fearing that she was not well, I went after 
her. 

I found her in the court of the chateau in the 
dusk of the twilight ; she was walking very rapidly, 
like some one taking exercise after a bath. When 
I approached, she pretended not to see me, and 


32 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


continued her walk, turning her back upon me. 
I called her : “ Cécile ! 33 

“ What ? 33 

“ Are you suffering \ 33 

“No . 33 

“ Well ! what is the matter ? 33 

“ Nothing ! 33 

I looked in her face, and she repeated : “ JSTo, 
nothing ! nothing, at least, that I ought not to have 
foreseen, if I had had the least sense. As soon as 
you arrive with your goddess-like face, it stands to 
reason that I am overlooked ! Oh ! of course it is 
not your fault that you were made like that; I 
reproach you with nothing : that is to say, begging 
your pardon, you could dispense with coquetry, my 
dear. When a woman is as beautiful as you are, 
and a coquette into the bargain, then good-by! 
nothing more is possible.” 

“ Truly, Cécile, I do not know whether to laugh 
or be angry. What does this mean ? You beg me, 
you beseech me, you supplicate me, to study these 
two young men — ” 

“Well, you study ‘these two young men 3 too 
much, and they study you too much ! 33 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN \ 


33 


“ Indeed ! Do yon wish me to return, then \ ” 
She seized my hands. “ Oh ! no ! ” and after a 
pause, becoming tender, “ I am stupid, am I not ? ” 
She threw her head on my breast and burst into 
tears. I quieted her as one would a child, and she 
suddenly resumed all her vivacity and habitual ten- 
derness. “ Listen — I have a superb idea : you will 
choose for yourself the one who pleases you most, 
and I will take the other. We will be cousins, 
almost sisters ; it will be delicious ! Besides, it is 
right that you should choose before me, you are my 
superior in every respect ! It is quite right ! quite 
right ! ” 

“ Dearest, you are the best little soul in the 
world, but I cannot accept your arrangement. And 
be sure of this: MM. de Valnesse are, and always 
will be, to me only the aspirants to your hand ; this 
title gives them in my eyes an absolutely sacred 
character, and forbids any personal pretension even 
in thought. It seems to me it would be a gross 
offense to both delicacy and friendship. Do you 
believe me ? Are you reassured \ ” 

“ I believe you. I adore you ! Come and con- 
tinue your studies.” 


34 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


We returned to the drawing-room, where I con- 
tinued my studies, hut more moderately, since zeal 
has its dangers. 

The old belfry-bell sounds — with what a charm 
in the night and in the woods ! 

Great Heavens! two o’clock in the morning! 
Are you not ashamed, mademoiselle ? 

June 12 th. 

Is movement synonymous with pleasure, and is 
it enough to be stirring to be amused ? If this is 
so, then I am too much amused. “ What shall we 
do this morning ? What shall we do this afternoon ? 
What shall we do this evening ? ” This is the re- 
frain of the house ; and behold us setting out on 
foot, on horseback, in the carriage, regardless of 
everything, full of life! A spirit of laughter ac- 
companies us, returns with us, sits at table, dances 
and sings with us, and does not leave us even in the 
halls. 

This morning early I wished to refresh myself 
by a solitary walk in the park. I descended from 
my tower with cat-like step, and when I had reached 
the middle of the staircase I suddenly heard the 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


35 


sharp sound of a crutch on the steps below, warning 
me of the approach of M. de Louvercy, who was 
apparently on the way to his library. I held my 
breath for a moment. I was about to bravely turn 
my back and take refuge in my room, but there was 
no longer time. We were face to face, M. Eoger 
and I. Suddenly perceiving me, he became pale, 
as if he had seen a ghost. He made an embarrassed 
gesture as if to bow, and in his confusion he let fall 
his unfortunate crutch ; it rolled down the staircase. 
I cannot describe the expression of profound dis- 
tress depicted upon his face : it was a mixture of 
grief, humiliation, and anger. He held the baluster 
firmly with his right hand, while his mutilated left 
arm and shortened leg remained in air, without sup- 
port. I hastily descended the steps, and picked up 
the crutch, returned quickly, and replaced it under 
his arm. He fixed his dark-blue eyes upon me, and 
said, in a low, grave voice, “ I thank you ! ” Then 
he continued his way and I mine. 

This little scene has restored my interest in him. 
In the first place, I knew he made a tremendous 
effort to spare me a volley of the soldier-like im- 
precations of which he appears so prodigal. Then, 


36 THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 

too, in spite of the involuntary antipathy with 
which deformed beings generally inspire me, I am 
far from finding him so repulsive as Cécile had de- 
scribed him. He is one-armed, and one leg is short- 
ened and seemingly paralyzed ; but his face is hand- 
some and refined, and the slight scar on his forehead 
does not disfigure him. He has, perhaps, a shy and 
bewildered air, which is particularly noticeable on 
account of the careless state of his hair, and his long, 
too long mustaches. 

I was entering the park, when Cécile perceived 
me from her window ; three minutes after, she was 
trampling down the grass by my side, hopping along 
like a bird. I told her of my meeting with her 
cousin. 

“ Ah, good gracious ! how he must have sworn ! ” 

“ Hot at all.” 

“ You astonish me ! The fact is, he is in good- 
humor to-day ; he expects his friend this evening.” 

“ What friend ? ” 

“ The Commandant d’Éblis, don’t you know ? ” 

“ Ho, I do not know — who is he ? ” 

“ I thought I had told you ; it was he who saved 
Roger’s life at Coulmiers. They had been very in- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


37 


timate for years — since St. Cyr. The moment Roger 
was struck by that bomb, M. d’Êblis carried him 
away in his arms like a child, in the midst of the 
tiring and under the feet of the horses. It was glo- 
rious ! And since that time he has never ceased to 
be perfect in Roger’s eyes. He even found means 
to attach him to life by inducing him to write the 
history of this frightful war. They are both occu- 
pied with it. M. d’Éblis comes to see him often ; 
he brings him all the documents which may be use- 
ful for his work. He is himself very highly culti- 
vated, very learned — a cavalry chief of staff at thirty 
years ; that is doing well ! ” 

“ But tell me, dearest, will not this fascinating 
person prove a third thief ? ” 

“ M. d’Éblis ! ” exclaimed Cécile. “ Great Heav- 
ens! my dear, I would as soon marry Croquemi- 
taine himself. He is severe ! he is terrible ! I like 
him well enough, however, on account of his con- 
duct toward Roger. But we have hardly met more 
than two or three times. He seems to look upon 
me as a baby, and I regard him as a father. But, 
seriously, Charlotte, do you not think it time to de- 
cide between MM. de Yalnesse ? ” 


38 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“ There is no great haste, it seems to me.” 

“ I beg your pardon ! ” 

“ Yonr position between these two gentlemen 
has nothing disagreeable in it.” 

“ Truly ? You think so? and my heart, my 
weak heart, what do you think of that ? ” 

“ Has it spoken ? ” 

“ Ho, but it is impatient to speak ; it burns to 
speak ! Only give it the word ! ” 

Seeing that she really did not desire a change, I 
replied by some pleasantry or other, and we en- 
tered the chateau, whither the breakfast-bell sum- 
moned us. 

The truth is, the choice between the two candi- 
dates seems to me very difficult. The result of my 
observations in regard to them continues to be satis- 
factory and embarrassing : satisfactory, because they 
are both endowed with the most admirable quali- 
ties ; embarrassing, because these qualities seem to 
me so nearly equal in both. They have the same 
kind of wit ; in their types of character and their 
personal physique the points of resemblance can 
only be explained by their near relationship. In 
fact, I believe they are both the best of their kind. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


39 


They are two good fellows, who have refined tastes 
and pleasing talents, of ordinary intelligence, hut 
honest and with great delicacy of feeling. They 
bear their rivalry and their mutual pretensions with 
a chivalrous courtesy which is very pleasing. 

The trouble is, that I love Cécile so much that 
I could wish for her an absolutely perfect husband, 
an exception, something unique. But would it be 
wise to pursue an ideal, which perhaps does not ex- 
ist, when something almost as rare, and which one 
may never meet again, is close at hand ? A man of 
superior intellect has almost always, so far as my ex- 
perience goes, faults of character equal to his abili- 
ties, and in proportion to his achievements. Are 
there not in reality more chances of happiness in 
this honest mediocrity that MM. de Yalnesse repre- 
sent with so much grace and distinction ? 

My “ uneasy conscience” is tortured by these 
great questions which interest so dear a destiny. 
But, upon my word, I admire the singular tranquil- 
lity of mind with which Cécile, whatever she may 
say, awaits my decision, in order to pronounce hers. 
For my part, I have certainly never found myself in 
a similar position ; but I am sure I should feel less 


40 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


serenity and more personal determination. How- 
ever, that remains to be seen ! 


Same day , Midnight. 

This evening has been less noisy and less frivo- 
lous than the preceding. The presence of the Com- 
mandant d’Éblis has thrown cold water over ns all, 
Cécile says. In my opinion it has simply raised the 
ordinary range of onr little circle a trifle. I have 
often noticed the strange influence which a truly 
distinguished man exercises in society. He gives, 
involuntarily and unwittingly, a new soul to things. 
Whether he speaks or is silent, it matters little ; it 
is enough that he is there. All are raised more or 
less to his level, and seem to live more fully. He 
establishes a more active current and a superior 
plane of intercourse. The slightest incidents ac- 
quire interest, and the diversions have at once more 
moderation and more savor. One is untiringly alert 
and yet at ease while he is present. One is often 
glad to see him go, yet regrets his departure and 
feels smaller in his absence. It is easy to see that 
less importance is attached to what is said, because 
he is no longer there to hear ; also to what is done, 
because he does not know of it. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


41 


This afternoon, M. de Louvercy went to the 
station with his panier to meet the Commandant 
d’Éblis ; when they entered into the little court 
before the stables, I found myself, partly by chance 
and partly by curiosity, at the window of my dress- 
ing-room. I drew my curtain aside : M. d’Éblis had 
just jumped from the panier , and was holding his 
arms out laughingly to M . de Louvercy, who, laugh- 
ing also, slid to the earth on the breast of his friend. 
There was, it seemed to me, such a touching likeness 
to the terrible scene at Coulmiers, and I tried to 
fancy the violent emotions of battle and the fever 
of heroism on the two faces, now so smiling and 
tranquil. 

M. d’Éblis dined with us. He is a man of 
medium height and rather stiff appearance, with 
that grave and correct elegance which characterizes 
officers in civil life. It must be allowed that, at a 
first glance, there seems to be something extremely 
severe and even hard in his expression ; fine, cold 
features, sallow complexion, thick mustaches, very 
black and calm eyes — these are what strike one at 
first, and these are not very reassuring. But the 
slightest smile which appears gives an air of good- 


42 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


ness to it all, that invites confidence at once. One 
takes courage as soon as he speaks, for his voice i° 
singularly sweet and musical. There is a charm ^ 
simply listening to this music, coming from those 
frightful mustaches. 

I had this pleasure several times during dinner, 
having been placed at table near M. d’Éblis. We 
began with silence ; I was timid, and perhaps at 
heart he was no braver than I ; for, although he 
has a severe expression, I have my own, too, of that 
sort, and I have often remarked that I excite 
timidity at first. Then very suddenly, breaking 
the ice, “ Mademoiselle,” he said to me, “I have 
heard you talked of a good deal to-day.” 

“ Indeed, monsieur ? ” 

“ I have learned that you are compassionate tow- 
ard the unhappy.” 

“ Monsieur ! ” 

“ You were kind to my poor friend Roger this 
morning ; I know that.” 

“ Any one in the world in my place, I am sure, 
would have done as I did.” 

“ Doubtless £ any one in the world 5 would give 
alms ; but it was the manner.” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


43 


I told him that I was flattered by his compli- 
ment, for he ought to be a judge of good actions, 
'me he had certainly been more useful to M. Roger 

I I had been, and than I could ever have an op- 
portunity of being. 

He bowed, and answered in a low, sad tone, “ I 
am not sure that I rendered him a service — in bring- 
ing him out of that ! ” 

We rose from the table, and still continued the 
conversation, discovering each other’s likes and dis- 
likes on all topics, particularly upon the subject of 
Wagner’s music, which he liked and I did not. 

A saucy prank of Cécile caused an unwelcome 
interruption. Cécile, who had been entirely occu- 
pied in making her curé laugh while he was drink- 
ing, was suddenly seized with the idea of riding a 
couple of cherries, joined by their stems, jockey- 
wise on her nose, holding up her pretty chin to 
preserve their balance. Every one laughed, and 
MM. de Yalnesse applauded heartily. Then, call- 
ing a servant to her, she broke the cherries apart, 
and, placing each on a plate, said, “ Take that plate 
to M. Henri de Yalnesse and this to M. René.” 

While the young gentlemen gallantly placed the 


44 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


cherries in the button-holes of their coats, the Com- 
mandant d’Éblis watched the proceeding with wide- 
open eyes. Cécile noticed him and exclaimed, with 
her ingenuous audacity, “ You seem astonished, 
commandant ? ” 

“ Not at all, mademoiselle.” 

“ Pardon me, you seem very much astonished. 
Be frank ; my little jest appears to you in very bad 
taste, does it not?” 

“ Mademoiselle, everything that you do appears 
to me charming.” 

“No ; you are right : it was in very bad taste, 
but I will explain my character to you. It is very 
complicated, in some sense contradictory ; and you 
will understand why : it is because there are within 
me an angel and a demon.” 

“ In that respect, mademoiselle,” said M. d’Éblis, 
“you have many companions. We all have an 
angel that we try, more or less, to listen to, and a 
demon that we try, more or less, to silence. How- 
ever, the demon that suggested to you to put the 
cherries on your nose cannot be a very wicked de- 
mon.” 

“Thank you, commandant,” answered Cécile; 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN \ 


45 


“ tlie lesson is there, but it is a kindly one. As I 
said this morning to yonr charming neighbor, yon 
are a father to me.” 

M. d’Éblis bowed with a smile, and we resumed 
our tête-à-tête. If I can trust certain indications, 
this valiant soldier must be, as old epitaphs say, as 
good a son as he is a friend. He has a grave and 
tender way of saying, “My mother,” which seems 
to me a revelation. The word is constantly on his 
lips. “ For my mother’s sake ; ” “ my mother wishes 
it;” “it pleases my mother.” In a moment of 
abstraction he even let fall the word “mamma!” 
He reddened slightly under his tan and recalled 
himself ; but that childish appellation, in that gen- 
tle tone,, from this vigorous man, was not without 
charm. 

After dinner, Cécile came with her unequaled 
grace to offer her hand to the commandant and sign 
a truce with him. They talked together some time 
in a corner, looking toward me at intervals, so that 
I knew they were speaking of me. Cécile, in pass- 
ing, whispered to me, “ My dear, you have made 
havoc in the 6 staff.’ ” 

I have no desire to create havoc; but, if this 


46 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


means that I am in sympathy with him, I confess 
quite plainly that I am very much pleased. 

A moment after I was asked to sing something. 
I have a mezzo-soprano voice, quite strong, and well 
cultivated, hut I am not fond of exhibiting it in pub- 
lic ; my reluctance is well known, and I am generally 
left in quiet. However, I went to the piano and be- 
gan the air from “ Horma ” — “ Casta Diva.” My 
surprise was keen, and my mortification not less so, 
when, after singing the first few bars, I saw the Com- 
mandant d’Êblis softly open the door of the salon 
and disappear. I felt that my performance w T as 
mediocre ; but I did not on that account cease sing- 
ing with the conscientious care that I bring to every- 
thing I do. I had just finished in the midst of a 
flattering murmur, when M. d’Éblis reentered and 
came toward me. 

“ Mademoiselle,” said he, pointing to a window 
that had been opened on account of the heat of the 
evening, “ Roger is out there on the bench in the 
court. He would be infinitely obliged to you if you 
would repeat the air from 6 Horma . 5 ” “ Willingly,” 
I replied, and I sang the air over again with all my 
heart. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN , i 


47 


I was well repaid for my trouble. Mme. de 
Louvercy, who, during the singing had remained 
perfectly radiant by the window, leaned out of it 
the moment I left the piano, and exchanged a few 
words with her son. Then she came toward me, 
took my hands, and, kissing me, said with emotion : 
“ Thank you for him and for myself ; it is the first 
time in a long while that I have sean a gleam of 
happiness in his eyes.” Truly, it was a success to 
have brought the savage out of his den. I am 
proud of it, and thereupon I am going to sleep a 
happy woman. 


June 26th. 

I have not written for eight or ten days. I have 
been seized by my old scruples ; I feared to give a 
body to my fancies in fixing them on these pages ; 
I was afraid of strengthening impressions which 
it may be wiser to let dissolve in air. Again it is 
my grandmother who quite unconsciously encour- 
ages me to follow my fatal inclination, and to con- 
tinue my confidential relations with my locked diary 
and myself. 

When I entered her room this morning to wish 


48 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


her good-day, she embraced me more tenderly than 
usual, and, taking one of my hands in hers, said, 
“ Have you nothing to tell me, my child ? ” 

“ I think so, grandmamma.” 

“Ali! M. d’Éblis is making love to you, is he 
not ? ” 

“ I do not know whether M. d’Éblis is making 
love to me or not, dear grandmamma, for he has 
never said a word distantly resembling a declaration. 
But he seems to like to be with me ; he speaks 
to me with a kind of respect, of confidence, and at 
the same time of timidity even, that I do not find 
in every one. He addresses all that he says to 
me personally, and the least thing that I say he 
treasures as if all my words were pearls. If that 
can be called 6 making love ’ to a woman, I really 
believe that he is making love to me a little.” 

“ I have noticed it,” said my grandmother, grave- 
ly ; “ and it does not displease you ? ” 

“Ho.” 

“Ho, naturally; but the mischief is not done 
yet, is it ? You are not in love with this gentle- 
man \ '” 


In love ? — no.” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


49 


“ He simply pleases you ? ” 

“ A little.” 

“Yes, aud lie does me also. Listen to me, my 
dear child : we did not come here to find a husband, 
but, if we do find one, we may as well take him here 
as elsewhere, may we not ? Only, you know, my 
dear little one, that an affair of this kind is very 
serious, and it is well to think twice. For my part, 
after I caught a glimpse of the attractions of this 
man, I did not wait three minutes to gather infor- 
mation from Mme. de Louvercy ; still further, I have 
written to Paris. I am informed from all sides. 
Well, these investigations all show that there are no 
grave objections to him. On the contrary! But 
still, dear child, you know that neither my opinion 
nor that of others ought to influence your personal 
feelings ; there are no serious objections, that is all ; 
family, reputation, fortune even, are all very good, 
very suitable. But, in spite of all that, I conjure 
you, dear, do not yield too quickly, too lightly to 
your first impression ; take time to let it deepen. I 
know you so well, my child ; you would be so utterly 
miserable if you were not happy. You are one of 
those who do not love twice, and it is necessary for 
3 


50 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


such not to deceive themselves. When you have 
opened your heart to a tender sentiment — when 
Love, to speak plainly, has entered there, he will re- 
main ; he will seat himself as upon a royal throne, 
that he will leave only with life.” 

The angel that is within me, as Cécile says, had 
long ago softly murmured, although in terms less 
kindly, the truths that I heard aloud from my 
grandmother. It had put me on my guard ; it had 
warned me that my first would he my only love, 
all-powerful, eternal, and that I must choose well 
or die. 

These may be only phrases ; but I believe them. 
To love a man who merits all my affection, all my 
esteem, all my respect, and to be loved by him — 
that is my dream Î Am I truly, truly, near its ful- 
fillment? Let me reflect. That a man like M. 
d’Éblis, of an agreeable and at the same time im- 
pressive exterior, of unexceptionable manners, of 
unusual merit, of a character at once heroic and 
tender — that a man so formed and almost perfect 
should satisfy all the desires of a woman’s heart, 
nothing, alas ! is more natural. That a young girl 
who feels or fancies herself honored by the particu- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


51 


lar attentions of this distinguished person should he 
flattered and touched by them, that she should find 
a peculiar pleasure in her daily relations with this 
superior intelligence and this charming spirit, that 
she should experience a secret intoxication in the 
thought of changing this intimacy of a few days into 
an eternal union — nothing can be more simple and, 
still, more natural. 

But what seems to me less natural and more 
doubtful is that a man like M. d’Éblis, who, it 
seems to me, can choose at his pleasure from all the 
world a companion worthy of him, should seriously 
attach himself in so short a time to the pale and ro- 
mantic Charlotte. One so easily believes what one 
desires! Am I not deluding myself? Am I not 
deceived by a few superficial courtesies which are 
addressed to me as they might be to any one ? One 
is in the country, one is bored, one sees Cécile en- 
tirely monopolized and engrossed while I am left 
alone ; one finds this a little unjust, and shows me 
a few attentions out of humanity. Is not that it ? 
Still he is incapable, unless I am greatly deceived, 
of disturbing a woman’s peace. But how could I 
ever have pleased him? By what merits? If I 


52 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


have any lie cannot know them. I do not reveal 
myself easily ; I do not tell my secrets. I say noth- 
ing to him beyond what I onght to say — mere con- 
ventionalities. I know very well that I am pretty 
enough, and at first sight that is undoubtedly an at- 
traction, even to a man like him. But if there be 
nothing but that, how many women more beautiful 
than I has he not met in his life ? 

Thinking the matter well over, I feel that my 
principal virtue in his eyes, and that which gains me 
his sympathy, is my obliging compassion for his 
poor friend Roger. Evidently his friendship for 
M. de Louvercy is a ruling passion with him, and he 
would be apt to like any one who flatters it. On the 
day of his arrival, I had, without at all intending it, 
ministered to this weakness, and since then, now that 
I think of it, I have had frequent opportunities of 
touching this fine point in his heart. It is now 
several days since M. Roger, thanks to M. d’Éb- 
lis’s affectionate influence, became our habitual com- 
panion at table. The first time that he consented 
to take his place among us, at the solicitation of the 
commandant, the astonishment was great and the 
rejoicings also, especially his mother’s. The poor 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


53 


lady fairly beamed. He bad had his hair cut, and 
his toilet, which is usually very much neglected, was 
carefully arranged. His fine face, pale and stern 
at first, gradually lighted up and softened in our 
company, although it clouded and contracted again 
whenever the slightest incident recalled his infirm- 
ity, for instance when he had to accept assistance at 
the table, or in sitting down and rising. It is in 
these little things that I am able to show him the 
real pity that he inspires in me. After dinner he 
is accustomed to sit a few minutes on one of the 
garden-benches, which are placed under the win- 
dows of the ground-floor. The other evening Cécile 
and I, seeing him ill at ease on the bench, made a 
signal to each other; Cécile went after a pile of 
cushions in the salon , which she passed through the 
window to me ; M. d’Éblis, to whom I delivered 
them one by one, attempted to arrange them as a 
support for the wounded arm and leg. But he went 
about it very awkwardly, and so, scolding him laugh- 
ingly for his clumsiness, and saying to M. de Lou- 
vercy, “ Permit me, monsieur,” I adjusted the- cush- 
ions with a woman’s superior tact. As M. de Lou- 
vercy thanked me a trifle constrainedly, M. d’Éblis 


54 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


said to him, gayly, “ What a good hospital nurse, 
isn’t she, Roger \ ” 

M. d’Éblis seems to me more grateful for these 
little attentions than he who is the direct object of 
them. He looks at me at such times in a search- 
ing, thoughtful, and, I believe, almost tender way. 
However, the feeling which he may have for me 
betrays itself only by these slight impulses of grati- 
tude, and by the kind of pleasure that he seems to 
find in my company and my conversation. 

“ Can I find enough here to make it wise for me 
to open my heart, to nourish a preference which 
doubtless is still but a passing dream, but which, if 
I abandon myself to it, will become to-morrow, per- 
haps, a profound passion ? 


July 6 th. 

This morning, after an almost sleepless night, I 
rose at daybreak, that is to say, at seven o’clock, and 
I resolved to do an unusual thing. I put my be- 
loved locked diary under my arm ; and taking my 
umbrella in one hand and my bamboo case, which 
contains all the necessary materials for writing, in 
the other, I softly left the north tower by the south 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


55 


door. Opposite this door is a broad avenue; in 
this avenue there is on the left hand a winding 
path ; at the end of this path there is a thicket, 
and in this thicket a statue of Flora, or Ceres, or 
Pomona, with a rustic table and three chairs. It is 
a charming spot, especially on a lovely summer 
morning like this. A kind of religious twilight 
always reigns here ; the leaves fall together and in- 
terlace in a sort of lattice-work, through which one 
gets glimpses of blue sky. The sun throws here 
and there on the ground, on the chairs, on the 
shoulders of the goddess, luminous bands, rays 
which seem sifted through the stained glass of a 
church. A slight odor of the orange-tree mingles 
with the perfume of the rose and of the white aca- 
cia-fruit; and, to complete the picture, one hears 
from an unseen ravine the musical murmur of a lit- 
tle brook, the home of the swans, which passes by 
here, one knows not how. 

One knows no more why the thought occurred 
to Charlotte d’Erra to choose this charming spot in 
which to write the recital of yesterday evening. 
Perhaps she wished to frame richly, in gold and 
dowers, a simple episode in the life of a young girl, 


56 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


which, may become — if God in his goodness should 
permit — the first page in the life of a woman. 

Yesterday, after dinner, we were distributed, ac- 
cording to onr daily custom, about the court of the 
chateau, to breathe the fresh evening air, mingled 
with the perfume of roses and of cigars. M. de 
Louvercy smoked, and stretched himself on his fa- 
vorite bench that we had piled up with cushions. 
Cécile, always as restless as a star, was suddenly 
seized with the unlucky notion of playing with her 
cousin’s crutch. She examined it at first timidly, 
then she became better acquainted with it, and used 
it to practise an apprenticeship as a huntress, her 
father having sent her a few days before a little gun 
with which she proposed to destroy all the rabbits 
and squirrels in the park. Meanwhile she exer- 
cised herself with the crutch in “ shoulder arms,” 
“ carry arms,” and then took aim at imaginary rab- 
bits represented by MM. Henri and René de Yal- 
nesse. I saw M. Roger frown painfully, and the 
Commandant d’Éblis bite his mustache ; I gave Cé- 
cile a severe look, but I lost my trouble. Encour- 
aged by the expansive appreciation of her two ad- 
mirers, she aggravated her thoughtlessness cruelly by 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


57 


placing the cratch under her arm, and trying to walk 
with one foot in the air, like her poor disabled cous- 
in. She took a few steps in the court in this way 
with great gravity, and without a shadow of malice, 
simply to see, she said, if it were very inconvenient. 
M. Roger pretended to smile, but his brow was dark 
with anger. I perceived it, and would have gone to 
Cécile to warn her, but M. d’Éblis anticipated me. 
He stepped up to her quickly, and whispered to her 
with energy a few words that I did not hear. But 
I heard perfectly Cécile reply to him, “ Always 
lessons !” “ This one is well merited, I think,” 

said M. d’Éblis. She seemed moved, and she hesi- 
tated a moment between her demon and her angel. 
Then she took a few precipitate steps toward the 
house, and gently placed the crutch against the 
bench ; and, detaching from the trellis which sur- 
rounded the window a branch of jasmine, she tried 
to place it in M. de Louvercy’s button-hole, saying 
to him, “ I will decorate you, cousin ! ” 

M. Roger seized the flower from her hands and 
threw it on the gravel. “ You are a fool ! ” said he. 
He rose at the same time, and, bowing slightly to 
me, he went to his room. 


58 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


As soon as he had disappeared, Cécile clasped 
her hands and raised her shoulders. “ There are 
moments when I could kill myself ! ” cried she ; at 
the same time she let herself sink upon the bench 
and hid her head in her hands, and we heard her 
sob. M. d’Éblis exchanged a look of intelligence 
and a smile with me ; then, turning toward Cécile, 
“Mademoiselle,” said he, “your despair is exces- 
sive ! For so small an offense, a childish indiscre- 
tion ” — and, picking up the branch of jasmine, he 
added, “Would you like to have me take your 
flower to him \ ” Still weeping, she made a sign 
that she would like it very much ; then she raised 
her head a little, and, smiling at M. d’Éblis through 
her tears, “ Always a father to me ! ” she exclaimed. 

Then we walked off a little way to allow her to 
recover herself. All Mme. de Louvercy’s guests 
were walking here and there in groups, talking in 
low tones as if penetrated by the beauty of the 
evening. It was serene and superb. A full moon 
filled the vast court with its limpid splendor ; there 
was a silver sheen upon the water of the lake, in 
the midst of which two large swans slept immov- 
able in their snowy whiteness. Exchanging a few 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 59 

indifferent words, M. d’Éblis and I walked back 
and forth between the lake and the first trees of the 
avenue, whose arched nave, in the midst of all this 
brightness, remained sombre as a cathedral at mid- 
night. After a silence, I said, “ A scene so sweet 
and peaceful must form a singular contrast to your 
memories of the war, does it not, commandant ? ” 

He started. “ Have you the gift of second- 
sight, mademoiselle ? ” 

“ I have scarcely the gift of first sight,” said I, 
laughingly, “ for I am very near-sighted. But why 
do you ask, monsieur \ ” 

“ Because at that very moment my thoughts did 
carry me back to a scene in my military life, to an 
evening like this, but less tender although as peace- 
ful.” 

“ May I hear it ? ” 

He hesitated, sighed, then bowing slightly, 
“Certainly. I was under Metz. On the evening 
of which I speak, the 27th of October, I had been 
detailed to carry some orders whose meaning did 
not appear very clear to me. I was, in particular, 
to arrest the march of one of our regiments, whose 
number I have forgotten. I fulfilled my mission, 


60 THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 

and was ready to return, waiting only to breathe 
my horse a little. We were then in a plain near 
a village called Colombey, I think ; the terrible 
tempests which marked those evil days were allayed 
for a few hours ; a tranquil moon was reflected in 
the small pools which covered the country. The 
imagination creates strange associations. There is 
certainly little in the smiling loveliness which sur- 
rounds us here to remind one of those desolate 
marshes ; however, the moonlight on the water re- 
called them to me just now, and those beautiful 
swans which are sleeping there remind me of my 
escort of dragoons, immovable as they in their white 
mantles. The regiment, while waiting new orders, 
kept ranks, and rested on their arms. A large 
bivouac-fire had been lighted, around which a few 
officers conversed mournfully in low tones. The 
rumor of a capitulation had circulated through the 
camp since the evening before. The colonel, who 
was a middle-aged man, with a grizzled mustache, 
paced back and forth alone some distance away, 
crushing in his hand the order that I had brought 
him. Suddenly he approached me, and, seizing my 
arm, 4 Captain,’ said he, in the tone of a man about 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


61 


to mortally provoke another, 4 two words, I pray 
you. You come from headquarters, you must know 
of it long before I. This is the end, is it not % ’ 

44 4 They say so, colonel, and I believe it.’ 
a 4 You believe it ! How can you believe such 
a thing ? ’ 

44 He loosed my arm with a sort of violence, 
took a few steps, and, turning abruptly to me again, 
he fixed his eyes upon mine. 

44 4 Prisoners, then \ ’ 

44 4 1 fear so, colonel.’ 

44 Again he was silent. He remained some time 
before me in an attitude of profound reflection, 
then, raising his head, he resumed, with unusual 
emotion in his voice : 

44 4 And the colors ? ’ 

44 4 1 do not know, colonel.’ 

44 4 Ah ! you do not know ? ’ 

44 He left me again, and recommenced his soli- 
tary walk for five or six minutes ; then, advancing 
to the front of the men, he said, in a tone of com- 
mand, 4 The flag ! ’ 

44 The standard-bearer stepped out of the ranks. 
The colonel seized the staff with one hand, and, 


62 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


raising the other toward the group of drummers, 

4 Beat to orders ! 5 he said. 

“ The drums beat. The colonel approached the 
fire, carrying the flag raised high above him. He 
planted the staff on the ground, threw an earnest 
look around the circle of officers, and uncovered his 
head. They all followed his example ; the waiting 
troops kept a death-like silence. He then hesitated 
a moment; I saw his lips tremble, his eyes fixed 
themselves with an expression of anguish on the 
glorious fragment of torn silk — sad symbol of his 
country ! At last he took his resolution. He bent 
his knee, and softly laid the eagle in the burning 
fire. A more vivid flame suddenly shot up, show- 
ing more clearly the pale countenances of the offi- 
cers. Every one wept. 

“ 6 Break ranks ! 5 said the colonel, and a second 
time the mournful roll of the drums resounded. 

“ He resumed his Tcepi, and came toward me. 
‘ Captain, 5 said he to me, in a firm voice, ‘ when you 
return, have no scruple — none — in recounting what 
you have seen. I salute you. 5 

“ ‘ Colonel, 5 said I, ‘ will you permit me to em- 
brace you \ 5 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


63 


“ He drew me violently to his breast, and, hold- 
ing me so tightly as almost to suffocate me, ‘ Ah ! 
my poor child ! ’ he murmured — ‘ my poor child ! ’ ” 

At this point in his recital, M. d’Éblis turned 
away, and I heard a sort of sob. I could not help 
reaching out my hand to him. He seemed aston- 
ished ; he took it and pressed it warmly. “ You 
comprehend, then, all one suffers in such mo- 
ments ? ” 

“ Yes ; ” and, as I would have withdrawn my 
hand, he gently retained it. “ If anything in the 
world,” added he, “ could make me forget, it would 
be a moment like this.” I did not answer, and he 
released my hand. After a few steps in silence, 
“ Shall we return ? ” said I. 

“ Yes, whenever you wish.” And we returned. 

Nothing more. But, on the part of a man so 
reserved and so loyal, was it not a great deal — was 
it not everything? These words, when I recall 
them to myself, when I reread them, seem to me 
almost without significance ; but his deep, tender, 
penetrating tone — was it not that of a heart which 
offers itself sacredly and devotedly ? 

Truly I believe so ; and, if I may judge by my- 


64 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


self, such a moment, a moment when two souls 
touch each other in so close a union, suffices to join 
them forever on earth and in heaven. My God, I 
pray thee, grant that I may not deceive myself ! 


July 13 th. 

It is now some days since I have had the cour- 
age to resume my pen. I do not understand what 
is going on ; I do not understand what evil genius 
has touched the chateau with his wand, and sud- 
denly saddened all the spirits, soured all the na- 
tures, and changed all the hearts therein, excepting 
mine, alas ! 

The first symptoms of this revolution were mani- 
fested the very evening that left upon me so happy 
— and, I very much fear, so deceptive — an impres- 
sion. When I rejoined Cécile under the windows 
of the salon after separating from M. d’Éblis, I 
thought that she was sulky, and I asked the reason. 
As usual, she had to he urged to tell me ; but, as I 
insisted, she drew me beneath the lilacs, and de- 
clared to me, in a serious tone and (from her lips) 
one of extreme bitterness, that I was a false friend, 
that I completely neglected all her interests, that I 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


65 


abused her confidence, and that I amnsed myself 
in some way or other, while she remained in sus- 
pense between her two lovers, in a horribly painful 
and even ludicrous position. I bowed my head to 
this storm, acknowledging to myself that I had 
somewhat merited these reproaches, and that for 
some time I had been more effectually engrossed by 
my own interests than by hers. I calmed her as 
best I could, alleging the usual difficulty of making 
a choice, and promising to have a decisive conver- 
sation with her very soon, when I would try to end 
our mutual irresolution. 

It seems that, at the same time, a much more 
serious quarrel had broken out between the Com- 
mandant d’Éblis and M. de Louvercy. Over what ? 
no one could tell me. I only learned from Mme. 
de Chagres that M. de Louvercy, who at first sought 
his apartments after the little scene with Cécile, had 
suddenly returned to the court; that he had ac- 
costed M. d’Éblis the moment I left him, and had 
entered into conversation with him under the 
gloomy arch of the avenue. There they were heard 
talking with great animation ; Mme. de Chagres 
told me that the voice of M. de Louvercy especially 


66 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


evinced a kind of rage or of grief that was almost 
frenzy. They w T ere afterward seen to cross the 
conrt in silence, M. d’Éblis sustaining M. de Lou- 
vercy, who seemed to walk with even more than 
his nsnal difficulty. A few minutes after, Mme. de 
Louvercy was sent for in haste, as her son was suf- 
fering from a nervous attack. After this occurrence 
he did not appear among us for two or three days. 

M. d’Éblis on his side neglected us a great deal 
during the same interval : he either remained shut 
up all day with his friend, or he rambled over the 
fields in his company, and we met him only at 
meals. He was unusually sad and silent ; his atti- 
tude toward me was embarrassed, his language of 
a coldness quite new and apparently assumed. If 
it were possible for me to imagine that there had 
been any question of me in his quarrel with M. 
Roger, and that the latter had slandered me to M. 
d’Éblis, truly I would believe it. But the supposi- 
tion is evidently inadmissible. Whatever may have 
been the subject of their disagreement, no trace of 
it remains between them. Their friendly union 
seems even closer than before ; one would say that 
it had been strengthened by some new tie. A shade 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


67 


of this is especially plain in M. Boger’s manner : in 
his relations with M. d’Éblis he displays a curiously 
affectionate tenderness, as if he would be pardoned 
for something. It is clear that the wrong was on 
his side. But what wrong ? 

Mme. de Louvercy knows apparently, for she is 
more pensive than usual. From contagion, doubt- 
less, my grandmother appears preoccupied, and MM. 
de Yalnesse themselves, as well as their sisters, 
mope in their corners. 

For myself, I do not grow dismal over what I 
feel. I soared in the heavens among the stars ; my 
wings were suddenly clipped, and I fell heavily to 
the earth. That is all. I force myself to forget 
this radiant illusion of a moment ; but I cannot, and 
I fear that I shall never be able to. 

July 22 d. 

Did I not despair too hastily ? It seems to me 
that after that sudden squall everything returned 
little by little to the accustomed order. M. d’Eblis 
had certainly experienced something very disagree- 
able, which at first overruled every other feeling 
in him, and the dominance of which he had shaken 
off with difficulty. But at last, little by little, he 


68 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


chased away this cloud, and seems now to have re- 
gained his original free play of mind. At the same 
time, he has resumed his habits of friendly and 
confidential conversation with me, although I al- 
ways find in him, when he is near me, something 
sad and constrained. I do not know exactly what. 
Nevertheless, he has under his grave exterior a 
depth of gayety which Cécile especially has the gift 
of arousing. Her fantastic and charming character, 
so honest and frolicsome, interests and diverts him ; 
he censures and yet delights in her caprices, and 
the arch tricks, at once graceful and grotesque, 
which she is so fond of. 

Yesterday morning, for example, she had re- 
solved to try her skill with her gun in the wood 
which surrounds the park. We all accompanied 
her, and M. d’Êblis, in his military capacity, was 
requested to preside over this dangerous expedition. 
The rabbits ran about in the woods like mice in a 
granary. It is scarcely necessary to say that Cécile 
did not kill a single one ; but, by way of compen- 
sation, she failed to cripple MM. de Yalnesse, who 
hastened to climb the trees whenever she aimed her 
gun. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


69 


As we were returning gayly from this fruitless 
campaign, following a hollow which skirts the wood, 
Cécile perceived in the very middle of the pathway 
and in front of the bars of a pasture one of those 
brown-stone pitchers which are used in milking. 
“ Stop ! ” said she ; “ see that pitcher down there 
all by itself.” Piqued at her non-success with the 
rabbits, she at once conceived the triumphant idea 
of revenging herself on this unhappy pitcher : she 
quickly raised her gun to her shoulder and drew 
the trigger. “ Hit ! ” cried she. The pitcher was 
shattered in pieces, and a stream of milk flowed 
over the ground. At the same moment the milk- 
maid, whom we had not seen before, as she was oc- 
cupied in putting up the bars, suddenly appeared 
in the road. She was a little peasant about twelve 
years old, with her pale blonde hair covered with a 
child’s cap. When she perceived her pitcher’s mis- 
hap, the poor little girl raised and dropped her 
arms with a movement of profound consternation ; 
then, after a pause of dumb stupor, she burst into 
tears, and sobbed out that her mother would beat 
her. 

“ No ! no ! be comforted,” cried Cécile, “ I will 


70 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


pay you for your milk.” While speaking, she had 
advanced quickly, and, noticing that the bottom of 
the broken pitcher still contained quite a quantity 
of milk, “ How fortunate that is ! ” said she ; “I am 
as thirsty as a wolf.” She bent down, carefully 
raised the fragment of the pitcher to her lips, and 
drank the milk eagerly ; then she stopped a moment 
to take breath, and seeing the look of admiration 
with which we regarded her — for she was perfectly 
charming with the broken pitcher in her hand — 
showing all her dimples — 

“ A Greuze ! ” said she. 

After which she resumed drinking. When her 
thirst was appeased, there was some milk still left 
in the vessel. “ Who will have some ? ” asked she. 
The dark M. de Yalnesse eagerly seized the pitcher, 
and moistened his lips. 

“ It is twenty francs ! ” said Cécile. 

The young man smilingly took out his purse, 
and gave her a louis. M. de Yalnesse, the blonde, 
drank in his turn. 

“ Twenty francs ! ” repeated Cécile. — “ It is your 
turn, commandant ! ” she said then to M. d’Éblis, 
who was greatly astonished. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


71 


“ I, mademoiselle,” said he — “ I do not like milk, 
but here are my twenty francs.” 

Cécile placed the three lonis in the hand of the 
little blonde milkmaid. “ There,” said she, “ do 
not cry any more, my child ! ” and she kissed her 
heartily on both cheeks. 

We continued our walk. Cécile was a little 
gloomy ; at the end of a few steps : “ Monsieur,” 
said she to the Commandant d’Éblis, “ why would 
you not drink after me ? ” 

“ But, mademoiselle, I had the honor of telling 
you : because I do not like milk.” 

“ Don’t fib — it was another lesson ! When we 
get up to ten, we will make a cross, won’t we? 
However, I don’t bear you any grudge. Ho, seri- 
ously, I feel that I gain a great deal in your com- 
pany, commandant. A little more of this discipline, 
and I shall be a perfection.” 

There was more truth than she thought, doubt- 
less, in that pleasantry. She has a great respect for 
M. d’Êblis, and is very much on her guard before 
him. She watches carefully, in spite of herself, to 
see how he will look upon her pranks, and often 
checks herself in the midst of a frolic, if she notices 


72 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


the slightest sign of disapproval on his face. She 
chafes a little at the curb, but she recognizes her 
master and obeys him. In short, she submits in a 
very great degree, as every one does for that mat- 
ter, to the authority of this firm and tender char- 
acter, this lofty and somewhat disdainful spirit. 
The companionship of M. d’Eblis, if she could en- 
joy it constantly, would be very salutary to her. 
Only he and I have such a command over her. Ah ! 
if ever — if ever the dream with which I flatter my- 
self should be realized — the dear creature always 
surrounded by the friendship and the influence of 
us both, would truly become, as she says, “ a perfec- 
tion ” — and a most pleasing perfection. 


July 26 th. 

I am still much moved and agitated by a con- 
versation that I have just had with Cécile. Feeling 
the reproaches that she addressed to me the other 
day, I had heartily resumed the course of my ob- 
servations and studies of the merits of MM. de Yal- 
nesse. After due reflection, my choice was fixed 
upon M. Kené, who seemed to me to have a less 
superficial nature and a more cultivated mind than 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 73 

his cousin Henri. Immediately after breakfast I 
said significantly to Cécile that I would like to 
speak with her. “Very well!” said she, dryly, 
“what about?” “Really! why, of what interests 
you so much.” “ Nothing ‘ interests me so much ! ’ 
However, let us hear.” 

A little surprised by this beginning, I led her 
under the fir-trees of the park. “Well, my dear,” 
I said to her, “ my choice is made.” 

“ Ah ! You have taken a great deal of time for 
it!” 

“ The choice will be all the wiser,” I returned, 
laughingly. Then I recounted to her my long hesi- 
tation, and finally enumerated all the reasons which 
seemed to me to incline the balance in favor of M. 
René. 

She listened to me with a strange air, her lips 
pressed together, her eyes roving about, and striking 
here and there the trunks of the trees with the end 
of her parasol. When I had finished — 

“ Unfortunately, I prefer the other.” 

“ What other ? ” 

“ Whom but M. Henri, naturally ? ” 

“ The misfortune is not very great, my darling, 
4 


74 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


for, as I have told you, I see hardly any differences 
between these two gentlemen that are tangible, only 
shadows; and, in this equality of suitability and 
merit, it is very clear that it is your own personal 
taste that should decide.” 

“ For yourself,” resumed Cécile, “ you would 
marry M. René ? ” 

“ He is not addressing himself to me ! ” 

“ But, in short, you would marry him if you were 
free to ? ” 



“Ho.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because I don’t love him.” 

“ That is to say, he would not be worthy of you ; 
but he is good enough for me ! ” 

“ My dear,” replied I, tranquilly, “ if you choose, 
we w T ill resume our conversation at some time when 
you are in a better humor.” 

“Ho,” said she, twirling her parasol, “it is only 
that I find it a truly incredible thing — it wounds 
me — this furor among you all to be rid of me ; my 
father, my aunt, and even you! However, I am 
not your slave. Girls cannot be married by force ; 
and I say to you distinctly, my dear, as I have 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


75 


said to my father and my aunt — I do not wish to 
marry.” 

“As for that,” said I, “ nothing is easier, my 
dear child.” 

“ I would prefer a thousand times to reenter the 
convent.” 

“ Pardon me, my dear, it is not a convent that 
you should enter, but a private hospital. Mean- 
while, I will reënter my room.” 

I walked away, for my patience, which is very 
great, was at an end. She held me back by my 
arm. “Charlotte, do not leave me; I am unhap- 
py ! ” and, in her affectionate way, she threw herself 
weeping into my arms. 

I was profoundly troubled, for her words, “I 
am unhappy ! ” had roused a startling suspicion in 
my mind. But at last I murmured through the 
caresses that I lavished on her : “ What has hap- 
pened ? What is the matter ? ” 

She answered me, shaking her head and stammer- 
ing out the words brokenly, “Nothing — nothing 
— I do not know — truly I do not know.” 

When I saw that she had recovered herself a lit- 
tle, I pressed her anew with questions ; she looked 


76 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


at me fixedly a moment, as if she were on the point 
of confiding some secret to me; then she sighed 
and was silent. 

At last she was able to give me some such expla- 
nation of her emotion as this : As long as she saw 
her marriage in the distant horizon, she said to me, 
she regarded it with the indifference of a child ; but, 
in proportion as it appeared in a nearer and more 
real perspective, she understood its serious character 
better, and she recoiled from the choice which must 
carry with it the happiness or unhappiness of her 
whole life. She concluded by begging me to leave 
her a few days more for reflection. 

I simply observed to her that she had submitted 
these gentlemen to a rather long novitiate, and that, 
if she remained much longer without manifesting a 
preference for one or the other, she might see them 
both depart some fine morning discouraged. 

“ Ah, well, good riddance to them ! ” said Cécile. 

We returned to the house, and I went immediate- 
ly to my room ; I was in haste to be alone, to try to 
put my ideas into calm order. I have not succeeded ; 
my head and my heart are bewildered. It is not pos- 
sible for me to mistake Cécile’s feelings ; there are 


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77 


not two ways of interpreting her quite new indiffer- 
ence to the regard of the MM. de Y aînesse, her 
words, her silence, her tears. She loves, or she be- 
lieves she loves, M. d’Éblis. That is her secret ! Great 
God, is it possible ? Of all the griefs that I could 
suffer, of all the afflictions that my imagination could 
conceive, assuredly this would be one of the most 
bitter. A rivalry of the heart, a contest of jealousy 
between Cécile and me ! A contest in which I 
must sacrifice either my dearest friendship or my 
dearest love ! What a trial ! — and I cannot even 
pray to God to spare me : it has come ; it exists. 

I have done my best ; I have tried my utmost to 
elevate my thoughts. I cannot willingly share his 
] ove — I cannot ! All that I can do — and I will do 
it — is to bring to this sad contest an integrity, an 
irreproachable loyalty, not to say a word prejudicial 
to Cécile, not one word that shall advance my inter- 
ests ; to wait finally, with a torn heart but peaceful 
conscience, till he chooses between us two. If he 
should choose me at last, Cécile would without 
doubt suffer cruelly, poor girl ! However, I believe 
— I know so well her lively, tender, but fickle na- 
ture — she would find consolation, and I — never ! 


78 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


From the beginning, his inclination carried him 
toward me rather than toward her. A woman does 
not deceive herself in these things. Besides, my 
grandmother remarked it ; and, finally, although I 
am far from boasting of it, there is, it seems to me, 
between ns, between our characters, more sympathy 
and harmony. Since that happy evening when we 
came to understand each other so well, I have found 
him, it is true, colder, and more reserved with me ; 
but there has been something on his mind. He ap- 
pears also a little more engrossed with, or rather 
more curious about, Cécile ; but she amuses him, I 
believe, more than she pleases him. However, who 
knows ? Ah ! my poor darling, what an injury you 
have done me ! 

They are calling me for the afternoon excursion. 
M. d’Éblis will accompany us. How that my eyes 
are opened, the least circumstance, the smallest de- 
tail, will be a decisive revelation. 


Same day , Evening. 

In the course of this excursion, Cécile met with 
a singular adventure. We took the carriages about 
two o’clock to pay a visit to the curé of Louvercy, 


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79 


who had arranged a fishing-party for us. His par- 
sonage, which adjoins the church, is only a few kilo- 
metres from the chateau, and is situated on the bank 
of a little river that is, I think, a tributary of the 
Eure. Half of the party repaired to the parsonage 
garden, which juts out into the river so as to seem 
almost like an island, and betook themselves to fish- 
ing. M. d’Éblis, Mme. de Chagres, her husband, 
and myself, remained in the churchyard, which is 
one of the prettiest village churchyards anywhere to 
be seen. The church itself, lost in the trees, is a 
graceful fifteenth-century monument whose porch 
and pointed-arched windows are covered with pretty 
fretwork. M. d’Éblis set himself to draw it. We 
had brought seats and formed a group about him, 
watching his work, and admiring by turns the play 
of the light on the water and amid the foliage, for 
the day was glorious. At the end of the road which 
skirts the churchyard, there is an old wooden bridge 
thrown across the river, and opposite on the other 
side of the water a rocky hill crowned with green 
grass. We surveyed it all seated in the shade of a 
venerable yew which, under the heat of the day, 
emitted a resinous odor. 


80 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


Soon we saw Cécile appear ; she had quickly got 
tired of fishing — and perhaps also of M. d’Éblis’s 
absence. She came to flutter and hover around him 
like a butterfly ; then she began to stroll through 
the churchyard and read the epitaphs in an under- 
tone. But there was one thing that especially at- 
tracted her attention, and before long absorbed her 
completely. Some one in the village had died; 
and in the middle of the churchyard a grave had 
been dug, doubtless to be filled to-morrow morning. 
This open grave awakened Cécile’s interest in an 
extraordinary degree. After approaching it several 
times with mingled dread and curiosity, she grew 
bolder little by little, and tried to look into the bot- 
tom of it. But that was difficult, for on all sides of 
the grave masses of earth and gravel which had been 
dug out of it were piled up and gave way under- 
foot. Finally, an idea occurred to her : to enable 
her to lean over the grave without risk, she seized 
firmly the top of a little cypress, which grew on a 
hillock near by, with one hand, and leaning with the 
other on her parasol, we saw her bend her fragile 
form over the grave and look eagerly into its depths. 
M. d’Éblis raised his head ; he took in at a glance 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


81 


this strange scene, lighted up by the summer’s sun, 
this charming figure leaning over this sinister hole, 
this young and fresh face, half smiling, half terrified. 
He turned the leaf of his portfolio over hastily, to 
fix this memory on the next page at once. Then, 
suddenly springing to his feet, he cried: “ Take 
care, mademoiselle ! for Heaven’s sake, take care ! ” 

We all rose with the same impulse. The cypress 
by which Cécile supported herself with one hand 
had been half undermined that morning by the 
grave-digger’s work, and it yielded with her weight 
at the same instant that the rubbish gave way under 
her feet. She lost her balance, threw up her arms, 
uttered a scream, and disappeared in the yawning 
grave ! 

We hurried to her with feelings which it is diffi- 
cult for me to describe. I felt, myself, as if a stroke 
of lightning had shot through me from head to foot. 
We reached her very quickly. The poor girl had 
got up, and was standing at the bottom of the grave, 
her hair disordered, immovable, utterly bewildered, 
and looking up at us with a ludicrous smile. The 
Y aînesses had rushed up, like ourselves, at the scream 
she had uttered. Amid great confusion, everybody 


82 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


proffered his advice for getting her ont of this 
terrible tomb. They stretched ont their hands to 
her, bnt in vain. Every one knows how deep these 
graves are. Some of the gentlemen said it would 
be necessary to go for ropes, others suggested chairs 
and a ladder ; meanwhile Cécile appeared to be in a 
state of hysterical exaltation, which would easily be- 
come dangerous if prolonged. 

The calm and commanding voice of M. d’Éblis 
silenced every one. He waved us back with a gest- 
ure. “ Come, mademoiselle,” he said, laughing, “ let 
us not lose our heads. There is nothing serious 
in this accident. A little coolness and you will 
be out of that in a minute. Gymnastics are my 
strong point, as you shall see. How listen! Let 
me pass my hands under your arms.” He half knelt 
on the debris and lifted Cécile by the shoulders, 
smiling at her and encouraging her with a look ; and 
then, raising himself gradually, he set her down on 
the ground. But at that moment she fainted ; her 
eyes closed, and she lay motionless in his arms, pale 
as a corpse, her lips half open. 

“ She mustn’t find herself here when she comes 
to herself,” said M. d’Éblis to us. “ I am going to 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


83 


carry her to that apple-orchard down there; it is 
more cheerful.” 

Accordingly, he went out of the churchyard, 
bearing the swooning Cécile on his breast. We let 
down the bars of the apple-orchard on the other side 
of the road for him. As he bent over to lay her 
gently on the grass, she opened her eyes and looked 
at him for a second or two in a dazed way ; then 
recollecting herself and smiling at him, she mur- 
mured, “ A father to me.” Then, instantly closing 
her eyes, she fainted anew. Water was brought ; I 
bathed her temples and loosened her corsage slight- 
ly, and she soon came to her senses. A quarter of 
an hour afterward we set out to return to the châ- 
teau. On the way we tried with affectionate pleas- 
antry to make light of the adventure, and laughed 
over it heartily, but without succeeding in totally 
dissipating the superstitious impression that it had 
left upon Cécile’s mind. Although she did her best 
to laugh with us, she remained very pale and pen- 
sive. 

Nevertheless, it is possible that she will owe her 
happiness to this doleful incident. I was walking 
at M. d’Éblis’s side when he was carrying her in his 


84 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


arms, and I could see the expression of his face bent 
over this pretty, sleeping head. It was not alto- 
gether sympathy and compassion ; it was the tender- 
est admiration. Undoubtedly, in the very weakness 
of this delicate being, always in need of protection, 
there is a powerful attraction for a strong soul. 

Ah ! Cécile, Providence is on thy side ! 

July 3C Uh. 

Nothing very new. Cécile has submitted more 
and more to the power and the charm of M. d’Éb- 
lis ; that is evident, and every one is beginning 
to notice it. As for him, I do not know what to 
think. He is an enigma. In his manner with Cé- 
cile, there is certainly an aroused and amused curi- 
osity, pleasure, a lively interest, affection even, but 
no passion, as it seems to me : nothing as ardent — if 
I dare say so — as one of those looks which I found 
fixed on me so often formerly, and which I still 
hope to suddenly surprise some time. Even his 
voice in speaking to me is strangely troubled, as it 
never is with Cécile. What can be passing in this 
heart ? 

I went to walk in the park this morning, ques- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


85 


tioning myself the while ; and, in questioning my- 
self, I confess I cried a little, and I do not weep 
very easily, either. But this constant and sustained 
agitation to which I am a prey, this secret rivalry 
with my best friend, these internal struggles between 
my conscience and my duty, between my unhappy 
passion and my disturbed friendship, all this mar- 
tyrdom — for that is just what it is — has shaken my 
nerves frightfully. At the turning of the lonely 
path where I was walking I suddenly saw Mme. de 
Louvercy appear. She had her handkerchief in her 
hand, and seemed to me to be using it as I had 
mine. She, too, had just been weeping. She could 
not recover herself as quickly as I. a You surprise 
me,” she said, “ in one of my moments of deep dis- 
couragement.” 

« Is M. Boger suffering again, madame?” I 
asked. 

“Not physically, but his moral condition makes 
me despair. I have believed for several days, ever 
since he consented to seek a little distraction in our 
society, that there was something to be hoped for 
there ; but it was an illusion. I imagine that this 
very return to the world has, on the contrary, caused 


86 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


him to feel still more keenly the severity of his 
misfortunes, exasperated his grief and his humilia- 
tion. You cannot know — but I am a daily witness 
of it all— the paroxysms of rebellious rage, the furi- 
ousness of a fallen angel, which shock me as a 
mother and, alas ! as a Christian. Ah, my dear 
child,” added she, taking me by the hands, “ in such 
adversity we have only God! And he does not 
believe it, or, what is perhaps worse, he will not. 
He shuns a church like a leper. If he could only 
pray once, I feel that he would be comforted, if not 
consoled. But he will not ; and yet he loves me 
much, though since his misfortune I have never 
been able to get him to pray. I have begged him 
on my knees, and he will not.” And the poor 
woman burst into a flood of weeping. We stood 
there, looking sadly at each other, finding some sort 
of solace in drawing together both our sad hearts. 


August Is*. 

This day will count in my life. As there has 
been less animation at the château for some time 
past, no excursion was arranged for to-day, and ev- 
ery one remained at home, each in his own room or 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


87 


in the salon. After scribbling the foregoing lines, 
I thought of returning to that melancholy walk 
where I had met Mme. de Louvercy, and resuming 
the reverie she had interrupted. I was on my way 
thither when I heard a sound of rapid footsteps 
behind me ; I turned around and saw M. d’Éblis. 
“ Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said, with his 
gravest air, “will you honor me with a few mo- 
ments’ conversation ? ” 

At these words, my heart stopped short; and, 
when it began to beat again, the shock was so vio- 
lent that my very being seemed on the point of dis- 
solution. I realized that the moment had come, 
and that the sentence of my fate was to be pro- 
nounced. 

“ Monsieur,” I replied, dissembling my emotion 
as best I could, though very badly, I fear, “ I am 
listening.” 

He was very much agitated himself ; he walked 
a few steps at my side in silence. Then he re- 
sumed : “ Mademoiselle, I shall seem very indiscreet 
to you, but my indiscretion will at least prove the 
profound and respectful confidence with which you 
have inspired me, since I shall trust to you for the 


88 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


happiness or the misery of my existence. More 
than any one else in the world, mademoiselle, yon 
are in a position to know Mlle. Cécile de Stèle thor- 
oughly. Yon were friends in childhood. Yon were 
companions at the convent, were yon not ? ” 

“ Yes, monsieur.” 

“ Yon have had an opportunity of intimately 
studying and estimating her character, her mind. 
Before offering her my hand, before consecrating 
my life to her, may I ask yon what you think of 
her?” 

“ Everything^good.” 

“You feel, do yon not, mademoiselle, that there 
is nothing conventional in my questions? I con- 
jure yon, let your reply be equally sincere. Mlle, de 
Stèle is a very attractive young girl — any one can see 
that — graceful and full of distinction ; brilliant and 
spirituelle — I know all that. But her character is a 
little anomalous and inconsistent : it surprises me ; 
it even startles me a little, I confess. In a word, I 
ask you, who have been able to penetrate all its 
mysteries, what is there to hope for in it, and what 
to dread ? ” 

“ Cécile, monsieur, has never known a mother. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


89 


She has been brought up by her father, whose only 
child she is, and who has spoiled her at once a little 
and a great deal. This is the explanation of the in- 
equalities of temperament, the contradictions, the ca- 
prices that have struck you. But her nature is ad- 
mirable. She is the tenderest, the most constant, 
the most devoted of friends ; she will be the most 
tender, constant, and devoted of wives — on one 
condition, that she is well guided and loves her 
guide.” 

“ I ask a thousand pardons,” he rejoined, “ but 
do you believe that she can love a man whose char- 
acter is as different from her own as mine is, for 
example; a man whose serious and almost severe 
bearing contrasts so strongly with her sprightliness 
—at least apparently ? You do not reply.” 

“ Because I am seeking my words, not my 
thought; for my opinion does not waver. I be- 
lieve, then, monsieur, that if there is any one espe- 
cially fitted to win Cécile, to reform her little fail- 
ings, to develop still further her noble qualities, to 
make her an honorable, faithful, and happy woman, 
it is yourself.” 

He bowed low. Then after a pause, “More 


90 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


than all, you are very fond of her, are you not ? ” he 
asked. 

“ Very.” 

“ That itself is a high encomium. Thank you, 
mademoiselle ; I receive her with absolute confidence 
from your hand.” 

We had been drawing near the chateau ; he took 
the path thither after having again thanked me, and 
saluted me with a gesture and a glance. When he 
had disappeared from my sight, I sat down on one 
of the benches of the path. After having support- 
ed myself throughout this interview by an effort of 
courage and pride, I felt the ground sinking beneath 
me. 

It was all over : from that instant, my life was 
desolate ; my heart, though only twenty years old, 
had received a wound that will never heal. 

But how understand such conduct in a man of 
honor — a man of taste, moreover ? By what secret 
inspiration, by what refinement of cruelty, could he 
have been actuated ? I cannot conceive. 

Had he any consciousness of the horrible torture 
he was inflicting upon me? I know not. All I 
know is, this is how it happened. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


91 


At his first words, at the first blow, I fixed my 
mind on only one thing — to save my womanly dig- 
nity in his eyes, and to conquer the impulse of base 
jealousy which urged me to slander Cécile. Per- 
haps this preoccupation was excessive, and so I was 
drawn into a eulogy contrary to my belief and to 
the truth. But error in this direction is better 
than error in the other. Meanwhile I had not 
got to the end of the trials the day had in store 
for me. 

When I was able to stand on my feet, I began to 
walk again, to try and calm my agitation. I walked 
on straight before me without knowing whither, 
and, as I was crossing one of the principal avenues 
of the park, a noise of wheels caused me to look 
around. It was M. Boger de Louvercy, in his 
jpanier. lie was alone, for, in spite of his mother’s 
urgent request, he generally refuses to take a servant 
with him, following his habit of declining all assist- 
ance save when it is an absolute necessity. 

He was driving rapidly, after his usual fashion. 
Seeing me, he reined in his spirited horse with diffi- 
culty, checking it almost in the air within two paces 
of me. “ Will you not take a drive, mademoiselle ? ” 


02 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


he asked, with his always ironical and slightly bitter 
smile. 

“ USTo, thank yon.” 

“ Is it my horse or myself that frightens yon ? ” 

“ Neither.” 

“ Well, in that case give me the pleasure of your 
company.” 

“ It seems to me,” I said, “ that it would hardly 
be very proper.” 

“ Oh, proper ! ” replied he, shaking his head. 
“ Alas ! with me nothing is improper. Besides, we 
will not go out of our own woods. Come ! — you 
will not ? Undoubtedly I horrify you ! ” 

I saw the habitual pallor and melancholy of his 
face deepen. I was seized with a lively sentiment 
of pity ; and then at the time any kind of diversion 
was a welcome relief. My head was half crazed, 
and everything was the same to me. 

“ If it is only for a drive in the park,” I said, “I 
shall be very glad to go.” 

Then I got up into the panier , not without mak- 
ing the attempt twice, for the horse, a jet-black 
thorough-bred, was very restive, and M. de Louver- 
cy had great difficulty in holding it with his one 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


93 


hand. Then we set off at a very rapid pace. Yery 
soon, “You have missed your vocation, mademoi- 
selle, ” said M. de Louvercy, smiling. 

“How?” 

“ You were horn to be a Sister of Charity. 
There was one in the Orleans Hospital, while I was 
there, who resembles you a little. That struck me 
the first time I saw you. But she was less beauti- 
ful. Are you of creole origin ? ” 

“ Ho, I am a Parisian. This Sister took good 
care of you ? ” 

“ Too good,” he replied, with a sigh. 

“ Why too good ? ” 

“ What good was it to preserve a life which 
must be only a burden to myself and every one 
else ? ” 

“ Will you let me tell you, monsieur, that you 
seem to me a little unjust toward Providence? 
Providence has cruelly afflicted you, beyond doubt, 
but are you not too insensible to the consolations 
which it has left you, and which so many unfortu- 
nates are without ? ” 

“ Pray, what consolations, mademoiselle ? ” 

“ Your mother, first of all, and her incomparable 


94 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


tenderness ; then the solicitude of so rare and de- 
voted a friendship; finally; study — the leisure yon 
have to read, the delight that it gives you, the rec- 
ognition and esteem that it promises — ” 

“ Yes,” he rejoined, bitterly ; “ all that may pre- 
vent me from going mad. But that is all it can do. 
And still there are moments when I think I am 
mad, or when I am in reality.” 

He was silent for a few seconds, shaking the 
reins abstractedly and worrying the mouth of his 
horse, which certainly did not need to be excited. 
He did not perceive at first that the animal fretted, 
and was getting the better of his hand, and he re- 
sumed : “ You saw D’Eblis this morning ? ” 

“Yes ; he had just left me when you ran across 
me.” 

“ Ah ! A noble fellow, is he not % ” 

“ Yes,” I replied, with a simple nod. He looked 
steadily at me. 

“ You are very pale, mademoiselle. I had al- 
ready noticed it. Are you suffering ? ” 

“ Ho.” 

There was a wicked smile on his lips, and, as if 
he had done it purposely, he again shook the reins 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


95 


on the back of his horse, which became half fren- 
zied. We fairly flew. The horse, in his furious and 
reckless course, just escaped dashing us against the 
bars of the avenue gateway, turned violently to the 
right, and tore along at a frightful rate on a public 
road leading, although I did not know it, to a wash- 
house on the river-border, which is very steep in 
this place. 

M. de Louvercy endeavored to quiet his horse 
with hand arid voice, but he did not succeed; we 
sped on like the wind ; the trees waltzed by like vi- 
sions : a kind of vertigo seized me. We drew near 
the end of the road, and already saw the sun’s reflec- 
tion in the water. 

M. de Louvercy turned to me. Mile. Char- 
lotte,” he said, coldly, with that insane look that he 
has in his bad moments, “ do you value life greatly ? ” 

Truly not. I did not value it highly. A sim- 
ple movement of my eyebrows told him as much. 

“ All the same,” he replied ; “ it would be a 
pity!” 

I don’t know if he had a secret wherewith to 
tame his horse, which he had not chosen to employ 
before ; but almost immediately, obedient to a word 


96 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


or two, accompanied by a slight movement of the 
hand, the animal became quiet ; he resumed a rea- 
sonable gait, and we were able before reaching the 
river to turn aside into the fork of another road. 

M. de Louvercy, whose coolness I had admired 
in spite of everything — for we had certainly run 
the risk of our necks — then said to me, quietly : “ It 
is easy enough to understand why I do not care for 
life ; but you ! It is a mystery ! ” 

“ It is a mystery,” I repeated, smiling. 

“ A disappointment in love ? ” he retorted, in a 
tone of sombre irony ; and after a pause, “ So love- 
ly — yet disdained — that would be strange ! ” 

“ Monsieur,” I said, very sharply, “ your mis- 
fortune gives you great privileges, but it does not, 
I presume, allow you the liberty of insulting a 
woman.” 

“ Have I not told you that I was insane ? ” 

“ I see it, monsieur ; but I should have been 
warned of it.” 

He was silent for a long time. He bit his lips, 
so that I saw a drop of blood spurt from them. 
Finally, he resumed in a greatly moved voice : 
“Mademoiselle, I am unworthy of the honor you 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


97 


have done me. I feel it, and I humbly beg you to 
forgive me.” 

“Very well, monsieur. Shall we return % ” 

We were then far out in the country; I could 
see the little church of Louvercy through the trees. 

“We will return,” he said, sadly; “but for 
Heaven’s sake, shall we return angry with each 
other — enemies ? Mademoiselle, is there anything 
in the world that a poor wretch like myself can do 
for you to show his profound respect and to efface 
the memory of a hateful word \ ” 

A sudden idea occurred to me. I remembered 
what Mme. de Louvercy had told me in the morn- 
ing of the grief which the rebellious impiety of her 
son caused her. I saw the little church close by us, 
and said, hastily : “ Yes, you can do something 
which will win back my esteem and deserve my 
friendship. There is the church down there ; come 
and pray with me there.” 

His brows suddenly contracted ; nevertheless he 
asked in a gentle voice : 

“ Has my mother been speaking to you % ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do you wish it ? ” 

5 


98 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


“ Yes.” 

“ Let us go.” 

A few minutes after, we reached the garden 
of the parsonage which adjoins the church. The 
cure’s servant at work in the garden raised his head 
at the noise; M. de Louvercy called to him and 
asked him to hold his horse. I got down and helped 
him to alight. Then we entered the churchyard, 
and passed under the pointed-arched porch, to the 
lively surprise of the servant, who was not accus- 
tomed to see M. Roger within these precincts. 

The interior of the church is very simple ; a 
small nave, white and bare. I walked before M. 
de Louvercy, whose crutch resounded on the pave- 
ment and under the vaulted arches. We proceeded 
through two rows of seats to the place reserved for 
Mme. de Louvercy. I pointed to a low bench cov- 
ered with a cushion, and said to him in a whisper, 
“ Your mother’s prie-dieu” Then I supported 
him by the arm while he knelt on it ; he abandoned 
himself like an infant. He leaned his head on his 
hand, and I knelt at his side. While I prayed for 
us both with all my soul, his heart softened and I 
heard him sobbing. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


99 


"When we arose he said to me, letting me see 
his streaming face, “ See what you have made a 
soldier do ! ” 

“ And you are pardoned,” I replied, taking his 
hand. 

Soon after we departed, rapidly as always, but 
not with reckless speed. His emotion calmed ; he 
became almost gay, and questioned the peasants 
whom we met here and there on the way, inform- 
ing himself in their affairs, and relating their his- 
tory to me with interest. I had known before, 
however, that his misanthropy did not prevent him 
from doing much good in the country, where he is 
really liked. 

We had just entered the park, when we saw at 
the turning of a path three persons walking slowly 
before us : they were Mme. de Louvercy, M. d’Éb- 
lis, and Cécile. They appeared greatly surprised to 
see me with M. Eoger. 

“ Mother,” he cried, laughing, “ I meant to 
elope with Mile. d’Erra, and it is she who has run 
away with me. And do you know where she took 
me? Ho, you do not suspect. Come, I want to 
leave her the pleasure of telling you herself.” 


100 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


I jumped to tlie ground, and taking Mme. de 
Louvercy, who seemed more and more mystified, 
aside, I whispered to her : “ I took him to church ; 
he has prayed.” 

She uttered a cry ; and, clasping me to her heart 
with a kind of violence, she exclaimed, “Ah, my 
dear, dear child ! ” And then, after a pause and a 
long sigh : “ ISTow I have all my happiness at once, 
for — do you know ? Cécile — ” and she pointed to 
her, standing near M. d’Éblis. 

“Yes, I know,” I said. 

“ Who would ever have thought that she would 
make such a wise choice ; and that he, on his side — 
well, surely God has his own days ! ” 

Cécile, meanwhile, had taken my arm ; and she 
said to her aunt, in a pleading tone, “Leave me 
alone with her.” 

Mme. de Louvercy and M. d’Éblis then left us, 
conversing tenderly with M. Eoger, who was walk- 
ing his horse. Cécile drew me along, and, following 
a short, winding path, made me enter with her a 
very retired part of the park which they call the 
Hermitage. The tradition of the country has it 
that there was formerly in this place the abode of a 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


101 


hermit, evidences of whose presence are supposed 
to have been found in some debris of masonry, to- 
day half covered by a hillock of greensward. The 
lonely ruin, almost intact, is a very small and very 
old building in the form of a round arch, under 
whose shelter gushes into a narrow reservoir the 
source of a brook which runs through the wood. 
There is a bit of ground large enough to have been 
the garden of the ruined habitation, which now 
forms a smooth lawn, a kind of promenade in which 
are here and there groups of lofty trees. The place 
is of a singularly sweet and yet savage aspect, a sort 
of sacred vale of grateful solitude, in which one 
thinks of the nooks in those landscapes wherein are 
depicted the sports of nymphs and shepherds around 
some antique fountain. 

Cécile led me thither in silence ; then, looking 
at me with uneasy tenderness and bathed in tears, 
clasping me round the neck, she cried, “ Ah ! I have 
stolen him from you — I have stolen him from you ! ” 

I mingled my tears with hers, returning her 
caresses and murmuring : “ What folly ! What are 
you thinking of % Do not spoil your happiness by 
such a fancy.” 


102 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“You have been so good to me,” she pursued, 
weeping, “ so generous ! He told me. Ah ! you, 
only, are worthy of him — you, only ! You did not 
love him too much — tell me ? ” 

“ Ho, indeed, dear ; be calm : it was sympathy 
solely.” 

“ But I — I adore him ! Listen : it was here, in 
this lovely retreat, that he told me he loved me, that 
he asked me if I would be his wife. I should like 
to be buried here when I die ; do you believe it 
would be possible ? ” 

“ I do not know, pet ; but you say very absurd 
things do you know ? ” 

“ Indeed, I think I am a little crazy. But will 
he be happy with me ; do you believe he will ? I 
want him to be happy — oh ! so much.” 

“ He will be happy, dear.” 

In a word, nothing has been spared me. I cut 
this recital short, for my heart fails me. 

Meanwhile, what am I going to do ? I shall see 
to-morrow. I shall consult my grandmother. I 
have determined to tell her everything. 


THF DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


103 


August 2 d. 

My grandmother learned last evening, as all the 
chateau did, the grand news of Cécile’s engagement. 
Although certainly surprised and even in the high- 
est degree indignant, she received the announcement 
with a calm serenity and a smile that set me a good 
example. To me she simply said, in leaving me on 
the staircase, “ This gentleman has singular taste ! ” 
This morning she anticipated me, and entered 
my room just as I awoke from a short sleep. After 
kissing me and clasping my hand tightly, she said : 
“My dear little girl, Mmes, de Sauves and de 
Chagres have just told me that they leave to-day 
with their brothers. Their conduct seems to me 
utterly ridiculous ; it is a confession of their disap- 
pointment and spite ; it is pitifully despicable. We 
have more pride than that, have we not, little one ? ” 
“ Yes, grandmamma.” 

“We know how to suffer with dignity; and, 
though it will be irksome, we will stay here a fort- 
night or three weeks longer to preserve our self- 
respect. At least, that is my advice. Do you feel 
brave enough 1 ” 

“ I will try.” 


104 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“ Besides, little one, flight in such a case is no 
more reasonable than it is dignified. It is best to 
look things in the face, and get used to them. Don’t 
you think so ? ” 

“ I don’t know, any more.” 

“Well, you will see. If it proves beyond your 
strength, we will go. Forgive me, child, if I am a 
little brutal with your grief, instead of petting you ; 
really it is wiser. Trouble ought never to be cher- 
ished. Kiss me; I love you very dearly, child;” 
and she went to her own room to relent by herself, 
I think. 

As for my meditations during the night, this 
is the result of them : I have so often, in society, 
heard eternal love ridiculed and constancy called a 
fable — above all, that of my own sex — that I find 
it a little difficult to believe myself an exception in 
this respect ; still it is impossible for me to conceive 
that my heart, even in the most distant future, will 
ever open itself to a sentiment which shall expel 
that which I have already admitted there ; right or 
wrong, I am sure that I shall always love the man 
whom I have once loved with all my heart, all my 
mind, all the power of my being and my life. It 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN \ 


105 


is not even possible, with such a sentiment in my 
heart, to imagine myself united to another. Unless 
I become greatly changed, which I neither expect 
nor desire, I shall never marry. As long as my 
grandmother is left to me, I shall live with her and 
for her. If I outlive her, I shall return to the con- 
vent in which I passed my youth, never to leave it. 
I feel that there I shall not be hopelessly unhappy ; 
I shall take there bitter regrets, no doubt, but I shall 
find consolation there. Apart even from the poetry 
of the cloister and the sweet nearness of divine 
things, I shall find in my humble duties of instruc- 
tress the illusion of maternal devotion, although I 
must always realize that it is an illusion. What I 
have done hitherto for Cécile, I shall do for others, 
and they will be my family. 

With this plan for the future, I shall for the 
present obey the wishes of my grandmother; my 
own pride sympathizes with hers. I should blush 
to betray a mortifying disappointment by a hasty 
departure. Doubtless I shall suffer much ; but of 
this kind of suffering I experienced yesterday all 
that one can have, I think. 


106 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


August 8th. 

My grandmother has had a long interview with 
Mme. do Lonvercy to-day. What it was about I 
cannot divine, bnt the result of it apparently has 
been a modification of our plans. Instead of leav- 
ing a fortnight hence, we go to-morrow. She has 
just told me, saying that we have done all that our 
dignity demands. Her features showed great anx- 
iety, and Mme. de Louvercy, when I saw her leave 
my grandmother’s room, was very much discom- 
posed. Nothing, however, happened between them 
that wounded either of them; their attitude tow- 
ard each other proves that; it is affectionate and 
even tender, although stamped with a peculiar mel- 
ancholy. I give up the attempt to penetrate this 
fresh mystery ; indeed, it disturbs me very little ; its 
importance to me is that we owe our departure to it. 
I had, I confess, presumed too much on my courage ; 
it is exhausted. The departure of the Yalnesses 
and their sisters left me frequently alone with the 
two lovers ; I was the smiling witness of their tête-âr 
têtes , their endearments, their happiness — the smil- 
ing and despairing witness. Jealousy is a fright- 
fully complicated pang ; it not only tears the heart, 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


107 


it degrades it. One feels not only tortured bnt 
aSased. The wonnd is not open* it is not whole- 
some ; the ulcers of pride, envy, hatred, mingle in 
it, rankle in it, defile it. | There is no passionate 
soul, I suppose, that is not, in such a cursed hour, 
capable of such unworthy feelings ; the merit com 
sists not in being incapable of them, but in abhor- 
ring and conquering them.f With God’s aid I have 
tried to do that — but I am glad we are going. 

I promised Cécile to return for her marriage, if 
she is married here, but I imagine that the ceremony 
will take place in Paris, and I much prefer that it 
should. 

M. de Louvercy did not breakfast with us this 
morning:. He will not come to dinner this even- 
ing. He is suffering seriously, it appears. I have 
remarked that for some days his manner was more 
languid and ailing than usual. I am sorry to go 
away without seeing him again. I shall never see 
him again probably, for he does not leave Louvercy, 
and I hope never to return to it. Poor fellow ! I 
shall always appreciate what he did for me. 


108 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


August 9th . 

What a night ! 

Looking after onr packing kept me on my feet 
till one o’clock in the morning. I had just sent 
away my maid, and was beginning to nndress, when 
I thought I heard a door, on the landing opposite 
mine, cautiously opened, then a light footstep, a 
creaking of the wainscoting, the rustle of silk on 
the steps ; some one was descending the staircase 
very softly. Surprised and filled w T ith a strange 
terror that I could not analyze, I opened my door 
gently, and saw a faint light at the bottom of the 
staircase ; at the same time a murmur of words ut- 
tered in broken accents, and what seemed to me sti- 
fled groans, ascended to where I stood. I leaned 
over the rail, and could just recognize Mme. de 
Louvercy, who had paused, a candle in her hand, 
on the ground-floor landing ; she was leaning her 
forehead against the door of her son’s room, and 
listening intently. Suddenly she opened the door 
warily and glided into the apartment. 

I stood there, restless and palpitating, for two or 
three minutes, when a woman’s cry — a sharp, grief- 
stricken cry — broke the deep silence of the night. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


109 


I started forward, descending the staircase recklessly, 
and reached the door which Mme. de Louvercy had 
left ajar. It opens into a sort of stndy, which leads 
into M. Roger’s room. The study was plunged in 
darkness, but a ray of light penetrated thither across 
the passage which separated it from the adjoining 
room. I listened anxiously in my turn, and my 
heart beat violently. Mme. de Louvercy had en- 
tered the room ; she was sobbing, and her voice broke 
out at intervals in accents of despairing entreaty. 
Mo voice replied. I was seized with a mortal terror ; 
I believed some terrible misfortune had happened. 
Almost without reflection, I entered the study and 
raised noiselessly a corner of the portiere. Before 
me was M. Roger de Louvercy, seated in an arm- 
chair near a table ; he had the rigidity and the pal- 
lor of a ghost, and looked with a fixed and speech- 
less stare at his unhappy mother, who lay prostrate 
before him, her hands clasped, and striking her fore- 
head against the knees of her son. I could see on 
the table a large letter sealed with wax, and near it 
one of those oblong boxes of violet ebony which 
contain costly pistols. Finally, M. Roger mut- 
tered, in a dull and irritated tone, “Jean would 


110 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


have done better to have held his tongue I ” (Jean 
is an old soldier, who is now his confidential ser- 
vant.) 

“ Oh, I pray you, I pray yon ! ” replied Mme. de 
Louvercy, midst her sobs. “ Am I nothing to you 
— nothing to you \ O my God ! ” 

He still hesitated. Then I saw him bend down 
and take his mother’s head in his hand and kiss her 
forehead. “ Pardon,” he said ; “ this hour of mad- 
ness is over — wholly passed, I promise you.” 

“ You promise me — you promise me truly, my 
dear child ? ” 

“ I promise you — only let her go, I beg of you ; 
let me not see her again ! ” 

“ Yes, yes, that is right ; you know she goes to- 
morrow — this very morning.” 

“ And she shall never know of this ? ” 

“ Hever ! Oh, no!” 

“ Then good-night, mother ; rest in peace. Once 
more forgive me ; go in peace. You have my word ; 
I swear it to you — I swear it ! Take these away with 
you, if you wish.” 

While they clasped each other in a tight embrace, 
I went out hastily ; I mounted the staircase and re- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


Ill 


turned to my room. The remainder of the night I 
spent in strange reflections. 

When day dawned, I went to my grandmother’s 
room, and had a long conversation with her. She 
tried to tell me at first why Mme. de Louvercy wished 
to hasten our departure. It was useless ; I knew it 
already. 

I am going to sleep a little, and then I will re- 
sume. 

Same day. 

The resolution I had taken last night was long 
and strenuously opposed by my grandmother. “ Dear 
child,” she said to me, “you know that in theory 
I am not hostile to romance; but this is really 
too much ! At your age, with your face, your fig- 
ure, your education, your fortune, to marry an in- 
valid is certainly very noble, very generous, very 
poetic ; but, frankly, it transcends all bounds ! And 
even if you had taken such a resolution at an ordi- 
nary time, in complete freedom of mind and heart, 
calmly and coolly, in full possession of yourself — 
well, it would be better. But this is not the case. 
You have just suffered a disenchantment — a very 
keen deception. Good Heavens ! I shall never un- 


! 


112 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


derstand what that gentleman conld have been think- 
ing of, by-tlie-way. Be that as it may, yon are, dear 
girl, in one of those states which engender false vo- 
cations. You must not trust too much to a first im- 
pulse of enthusiasm, which perhaps is only an im- 
pulse of despair. At least let us wait — let us w T ait 
a few months ; let us allow time to pass upon this 
notion. If it is confirmed, if it grows stronger, then 
— well, we shall see ! But, truly, I should not be 
doing my duty if I allowed you to engage in such 
a venture under the influence of your wounded 
heart, and of the emotion which last night’s tragic 
scene has excited in you.” 

Briefly summed up, these are the objections of 
my grandmother. I opposed them in my turn with 
all my conviction and all my eloquence : Undoubt- 
edly, I was a little romantic ; but had she not herself 
encouraged this tendency in me ? Had she not told 
me it was a guarantee of self-respect, and even of 
happiness ? Undoubtedly, my heart was bruised and 
sick ; but had not a stricken heart need of a great 
duty and a generous devotion to relieve and sustain 
it? Ought it not to find consolation and oblivion of 
its own lost happiness solely in the happiness of 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


113 


others ? I did not conceal from her my design of 
some day entering the convent, if I should ever he 
unfortunate enough to find myself alone in the world ; 
and, thinking solely of sacrifice, was not that, the op- 
portunity to make which was here presented to me, 
loftier, more pious, more touching, less selfish even, 
than the mere renunciation of the world and the 
somewhat commonplace abnegation of an instruc- 
tress ? As for waiting, that would be to risk, per- 
haps, all the merit and benevolence of my act. Who 
knew if, in the interval, this unhappy young man 
would not relapse into one of those fits of despair 
to which I had just seen him a prey ; who could tell 
if his mother would again he forewarned, if he would 
not succumb ? One thing at least was certain, that 
to wait would deprive me of the best part of my 
reward — the joy, namely, that I promised myself in 
witnessing the sudden transport of these poor people 
from the excess of misery to an unhoped-for happi- 
ness, in being the cause of it, in descending suddenly 
into their sombre life as an angel of light : that single 
moment of my existence would throw over the past, 
the present, and the future, a peace, a charm, and 
an infinite consolation. 


114 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


My dear grandmother, with fast-flowing tears, 
readily replied to my arguments. “ Alas ! poor little 
girl,” she murmured in conclusion, “ the world will 
say we are two fools.” 

“ This is folly that God will bless,” I rejoined. 

“ I believe it,” said my grandmother, “ but there 
is another difficulty that stares me in the face.” 

“ Wliat can that be, for Heaven’s sake ? ” 

“ How are we to broach this matter to the Lou- 
vercys ? I must do justice to the poor mother. 
When she confided to me the unhappy passion of 
her son, she did not seem for an instant to entertain 
the idea — truly an inconceivable one, by-the-way — of 
a marriage between you two. And the young man 
has evidently no conception of it, either ; which does 
honor to his good sense — but then, what ? Must we 
offer ourselves, leap into their arms without even 
crying, 6 Take care ! ’ My daughter, it is impossible ; 
it is utterly improper.” 

“ But, grandmamma, since we are sure they will 
not refuse us — ? ” 

“ Ah ! good ! That is all there is lacking in the 
matter. Well, it is a very delicate piece of business 
— very delicate.” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


115 


“ Will you intrust it to me, grandmamma ? ” 

“ Why not, forsooth ? As well take an ell as an 
inch. Since we are up to our necks in irregulari- 
ties, another more or less doesn’t matter. Still, I 
fancy you will nevertheless first address yourself to 
the mother ? ” 

“ Assuredly,” I answered. 

That is why I have just asked a moment’s con- 
versation with Mme. de Louvercy, and in a few min- 
utes I shall he with her. 


Same day. 

Mme. de Louvercy was with her son when my 
message was brought to her. She came up to my 
room instantly. Her countenance, which is one of 
the noblest that I know, was still very pale and dis- 
figured by the terrible emotions of the night ; nev- 
ertheless she smiled at me, though with a distracted 
air like that of a person whose thoughts were a 
thousand miles from the surprise I had in store for 
her. “ My dear child,” she said to me, “ you want 
to bid me good-by ; you are very kind ; I am very 
glad myself to take leave of you without any wit- 
nesses, for I can better say to you alone how much I 


116 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


shall miss you, how much I thank you for having 
been so obliging, so compassionate, toward all of 
us.” 

She took my hands as she spoke ; she saw that I 
was extremely troubled, and felt that I was trem- 
bling. Her anxious features suddenly became alert, 
and her eyes sought mine with an expression of 
wonder and vague suspicion. 

“ Madame,” I said, stammering a little, “ I have 
to ask your forgiveness for something. I was very 
indiscreet last night — ” 

She looked at me with a deeper and more intense 
scrutiny. 

“ I heard you pass — then I heard you weeping. 
I feared that you were in need of assistance ; I de- 
scended — ” 

“ You know all? ” she cried, in her turn trem- 
bling from head to foot. 

“ I know all, yes. I am profoundly touched by 
the sentiments with which I have inspired your son, 
deeply touched also by his misfortune ; in a word, 
madame ” — and I drew near her very gently — “ are 
you willing to accept me as a daughter ? ” 

Her whole body shook with a sudden parox- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


117 


ysm ; her eyes, dilated, stupefied, and almost wild, 
remained fixed on mine ; her half-open lips moved 
tremulously. She murmured in a low tone, “ No, it 
is not possible.” 

“Will you take me for your daughter?” I 
asked again, smiling. 

Ah ! what a cry she uttered ! what a mother’s 
cry, a happy mother’s ! 

I have no very clear recollection of what passed 
in the few moments that followed. I had half lost 
my senses, and she also. She clasped me to her 
breast, kissed me, half stifled me, called me the 
tenderest names, praying, weeping, mingling my 
name with that of God in her transports of grati- 
tude. Ah ! how happy was that moment ! 

When she recovered a little and recollected her- 
self she asked, with anxiety, “And your grand- 
mother ? ” 

“ She consents.” 

“ Let us go to her.” She drew me to my grand- 
mother’s room. After the first transports, very 
lively on both sides, my grandmother observed that, 
before we indulged our ecstasies further, it would 
perhaps be wise to discover the wishes of M. Roger 


118 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


himself. “ Good Heavens ! ” cried Mme. de Lou- 
vercy, “ my poor boy — all that I ask is that he may 
not die of joy ; but I do not wish to delay his hap- 
piness longer.” And catching sight of herself in 
the mirror, with her lovely white hair disheveled, 
“ How I look ! ” she said ; “ he will think me cra- 
zy.” She smoothed her hair a little, and walked 
toward the door with the brisk and firm step of a 
young girl : indeed, the light in her eyes, the glad 
flush of her countenance, seemed to have suddenly 
restored ten years to her. Upon the point of going 
out, she stopped, and turning around, “ He will 
never believe me,” she said ; “ truly, he will not 
believe me,” and she glanced timidly at me. I con- 
fess I was dying to go with her. 

My grandmother, carried away by the enthusi- 
asm of the moment, pushed me forward by the 
shoulders. “ Oh, run along, my dear ; since we are 
fairly swimming in impropriety — run along,” she 
cried. 

Mme. de Louvercy passed her arm through mine 
and drew me on, almost running. “ What a con- 
trast to this horrible night ! ” she said, embracing me 
again as we descended the staircase. She opened 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


119 


the door of the ground-floor apartment, and begged 
me in a whisper to wait a moment in the study ; 
then she raised the portiere and entered M. Roger’s 
room. 

Hardly was I alone in the study when I was 
sharply struck by the strangeness, and, to tell the 
truth, by the impropriety, at least in appearance, of 
my situation. I tried my best to recall everything 
that could justify my procedure, everything excep- 
tional that there was in the circumstances that had 
guided me, in the unhappy state of M. Roger, and 
the reserve it imposed on him ; I tried to assure 
myself that in the course of things the usual rôles 
had been reversed ; still I was not the less there, at 
his very door, awaiting his good pleasure like an 
Oriental slave, and, not being of a very humble 
temperament, I was, to say the least, very uncom- 
fortable. This uneasy feeling became more painful 
in proportion as my solitude was prolonged, and 
time was left me for reflection on which I had not 
at all reckoned. My imagination had depicted this 
scene to me as an exact repetition, lively and rapid, 
of that which had so much moved me just before 
— astonishment, a cry, a start, a transport ! But, in- 


120 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


stead of that, minutes succeeded minutes ; I heard 
through the tapestry of the curtain low whispering, 
exchanges of confidences, a dialogue of discussion, 
a kind of formal debate. The blood left my heart 
and the floor swam under me, when at length the 
curtain was pushed aside, showing me the counte- 
nance of Mme. de Louvercy, not precisely sad, but 
serious and a little uneasy. 

“ Will you come in, my child ? 55 she said, sweetly. 

I entered the room. M. de Louvercy was stand- 
ing, leaning his wounded knee on a chair ; his feat- 
ures, whose usual expression is stormy and sarcastic, 
had utterly lost that character ; a kind of grave and 
almost solemn melancholy proudly intensified their 
pure lines ; his eyes, encircled with deep-blue fur- 
rows, seemed to me a little moist. He fixed his 
glance on me, and, speaking very slowly, as if to re- 
strain an emotion that was almost bursting forth, he 
said : 

“ Mile. Charlotte, my mother has informed me 
of the feeling of angelic kindness which brings you 
here. If I were less infirm than I am, I should be 
at your feet. I do not accept your sacrifice ; but 
that the thought of it came to you is enough to com- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN , i 


121 


fort and charm my life, to make my gratitude most 
profound, most tender. It will follow you wher- 
ever you go, and bless you always. And now, 
mademoiselle, do not, I pray you, prolong a tempta- 
tion that is truly beyond a man’s strength to resist. 
Let me remain firm in the resolution which honor 
prescribes to me ; you will esteem me more highly 
— once more my thanks, and adieu ! ” 

He bowed very low. His mother was weeping 
silently. 

I advanced a few steps toward him and put out 
my hand frankly. He took it and pressed it tight- 
ly. “ My God ! ” he said, in an undertone. Then, 
looking long at me, “ Excuse me, mademoiselle ; I 
cannot find words ; my heart is so full, my mind so 
troubled ; I leap so suddenly from the very depths 
to heaven ! But at least let me prove to you how 
thoroughly sincere I was a moment ago, how much 
I feared to abuse an impulse of generosity, a trans- 
port of enthusiasm. You will take some time to 
reflect, I entreat you. In a few months — in a year, 
let us say — if you are of the same mind, if you are 
not more terrified at your great sacrifice than you 
are to-day — ye s, I will accept it. But until that 
6 


122 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


time let me relieve you of all obligation, and return 
you your absolute freedom.” 

As be had kept my hand, I had no need of giv- 
ing it to him to cement our agreement, with which 
Mme. de Louvercy appeared well satisfied, hoping, 
perhaps — and perhaps with reason — that it would 
have the same fate as many other modern treaties. 

As for me, I replied simply : “ As you choose, 
monsieur ; but I shall not change. Au revoir — for 
the present — for you no longer stipulate that we 
depart to-day, I presume? You will grant us a 
reprieve of a few days ? ” 

He nodded, smiling, and kissed my hand. Then 
his mother and I withdrew. 

My grandmother, when she learned the result 
of this interview, declared that M. de Louvercy’s 
conduct had been perfectly correct and honorable. 
I think the same ; and, after having been so much 
shocked and mortified at the lack of eagerness with 
which he welcomed and replied to me, I feel that I 
should, nevertheless, have sincerely regretted it if 
he had acted otherwise. I appreciated him for his 
hesitation and his scruples, although I am sure, on 
reflection, that there is something further that he 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


123 


did not tell me. Yes, undoubtedly, be fears to 
abuse a sacrifice born of a romantic enthusiasm 
which is still subject to repentance ; but he fears, 
also, to accept the gift of a wounded heart, which 
perhaps is not yet, and possibly never will be, healed 
of its wound. For it is certain that he at least 
suspects my attachment to M. d’Éblis. He could 
not ask an explanation of me ; but, however delicate 
it may be, I shall explain it to him some day or 
other, and, as he is an honorable man, he will be 
satisfied with me. Yes, it is a wounded heart, a 
bleeding heart, that I offer him ; but still a heart 
that is devoted and faithful. 


August 25 th. 

I was certainly inspired. I do not wish, surely, 
to deceive myself. I am not happy ; I can never 
be happy hereafter. I have felt a happiness too 
great, too perfect, to obtain consolation for having 
lost it. But still the constant thralldom of this sin- 
gle thought has ceased ; my life has again a purpose 
and a future ; I have created a duty which will fill 
its void, which will occupy me, and even attract me. 
Surely it is an attractive task to relieve little by lit- 


12 4 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


tie a desolate soul, to withdraw it from despair, to 
return to it peace and smiling contentment, to lead 
it back to submission, to happiness, to God. These 
are the cares to which I consecrate myself with a 
tender interest, which will daily increase more and 
more, as a mother’s affection for a sick child ; and it 
will leave him who is the object of it, I hope, noth- 
ing to regret. 

At present he sees, he understands, all that I 
give him, and with what sincerity I bestow it all. 
I tell him something of it ; he divines the rest, and 
he seems happy. As I imagined, our treaty no 
longer holds good ; he insists, it is true, that I shall 
observe the delay arranged ; I do not resist, but I 
remain, and he does not complain. I fancy we shall 
be married in a few weeks. 

It was necessary to confide this great secret to 
Cécile and her fiancé. I learned nothing from M. 
d’Éblis, I believe ; he said to me simply, “ It is 
worthy of you.” As for -Cécile, after a few seconds 
of complete stupefaction, she went into a sort of fit 
of joy and tenderness, which still lasts. We shall 
be cousins, almost sisters : it was her dream. And 
then she fancies that this marriage will rivet our 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


125 


intimacy still more firmly, and tliat onr separate 
existences will become, so to speak, commingled. 
Herein sbe is mistaken ; sbe will remain tbe dearest 
of my friends ; bnt it is likely tbat we shall live, 
for some time at least, more apart than hitherto. 
Until now, discouragement has prevented M. de 
Lonvercy from yielding to the advice of his phy- 
sicians, who prescribe for him a southern journey 
and the sea-side. But now he wants to live. I 
have already spoken of an establishment at Nice 
for the winter, and I have seen that he thanks me 
for more than one reason, perhaps. 

Here I close my locked diary, never to reopen 
it, I trust. I believe that, once married, a woman 
should have no confidant but her husband. Adieu, 
then, romantic and impulsive Charlotte ! 


PART SECOND. 


The extraordinary circumstances in which I find 
myself after the lapse of five years induce me to 
continue my journal. I am passing through a ter- 
rible ordeal : there has never been more necessity 
for order in my thoughts and conscience. In the 
first place, I want to recall to my mind the principal 
events which have led up to my present position, 
and try and draw from them the light and counsel 
of which I stand so much in need. And then, too, 
I have a presentiment that these pages will one day 
be read by some one besides myself, which is an 
added reason for my wishing that there should be 
no obscurity in them. 

My marriage, as I had foreseen, took place at the 
same time as Cécile’s, in the little church of Louver- 
cy. M. and Mme. d’Eblis set out the next day for 
Italy, where they were to travel for several months. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 127 

Five or six weeks later I started myself for Nice, 
with my husband and my mother-in-law. My hus- 
band’s health gave me the only serious solicitude 
that I knew for nearly four years, during which we 
lived in that charming climate. I cannot say that 
my heart was always free from regrets, from mel- 
ancholy memories; but I can say that God really 
blessed the Quixotism of my marriage, and that it 
contained for me all that I had promised myself 
from it. It is untrue that the pleasures of passion 
take but one form, as we are too apt to think. There 
is some happiness in passion under the form of duty, 
devotion, and sacrifice ; there is some, they say, in 
martyrdom itself. There was no question of mar- 
tyrdom in my case, be it understood ; but still a task 
like that which I had set myself has some difficul- 
ties and some drawbacks ; it requires more than a 
day for the tenderest and best-loved hand to conquer 
and heal a soul that is naturally violent and made 
more so by misfortune. But then what an almost 
holy joy there is in fighting for this soul against 
revolt and doubt, and of discovering little by little 
that, beneath the ruins of the body, where it lies en- 
shrouded, it is wholly pure ! For some discouraged 


128 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


tears that I have shed in secret, how many were the 
sweet, happy, grateful ones that came to me as I felt 
my efforts rewarded ! And at last the time came 
when I had bnt to raise my finger with a smile to 
see one of those frightful fits of anger, to which my 
poor Roger had formed the habit of abandoning him- 
self, appeased at once. 

I ought to add, lest I may boast too much, that 
the honor of this miracle was not due to me alone ; 
it dated from the birth of my daughter, for which 
event her father forgave our heavenly Father. 

It was just before her birth that Cécile and her 
husband, on their return from Rome, came to pass a 
few days with us at the villa of Palms, where we 
were living. I had secretly dreaded the moment 
when I should see M. d’Éblis again ; but the great 
event in store for me rendered me almost indifferent 
to his presence, or at least I believed myself to be 
so. Besides, he was so icily ceremonious toward me 
that I was tormented with the idea that he had some 
grief to charge me with. Was he discontented with 
Cécile, and did he reproach me for having drawn too 
flattering a portrait when he consulted me ? Certain 
new shades in his bearing toward his wife surprised 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


129 


me ; he no longer appeared to be under the spell 
of her charm. Although he was always extremely 
courteous, there was a somewhat dry irony in his 
tone in speaking to her. At times he seemed wearied 
by the fantastic accounts which she gave us of her 
travels, her often intentional confusion of names, 
things, and dates, her impish assumption of erudition, 
and her pretty, bird-like prattle. But M. de Louver- 
cy, to whom I spoke of my anxieties, assured me 
that the Commandant d’Éblis was, on the contrary, 
more in love with his wife than ever ; that he was a 
little alarmed, perhaps, at seeing her so brilliant and 
sparkling, and so much admired, but that that was all. 
I thought no more of it then. I was too happy and 
too much occupied with my approaching maternity 
to think much of anything else. 

Our plans were made to leave Nice at the end of 
spring, and return to Louvercy for the summer ; my 
husband rejected absolutely all idea of an establish- 
ment at Paris. But the physicians were afraid of a 
sojourn in the country, and particularly in the damp 
climate of Normandy. Upon their advice, we de- 
cided to remain in the south until his health should 
become more settled. The two years which followed 


130 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


brought me almost perfect serenity. My dear grand- 
mother paid us two or three visits ; my mother-in- 
law evinced a passionate tenderness for me ; then, 
too, I had my daughter, and her birth, as I have 
said, had reconciled my husband to life, and had at- 
tached him even more warmly to me. He was filled 
with ardor for his w r ork, in which I humbly seconded 
him in the capacity of secretary, classifying, to the 
best of my ability, the documents with which M. 
d’Éblis kept us well supplied, making extracts, and 
copying, in my daintiest handwriting, his illegible 
fly-tracks. The active and earnest friendship which 
he had inspired in M. d’Éblis was no longer a mys- 
tery to me, as I confess it had been before, when he 
had allowed only his faults to be seen ; but, since he 
had ceased to fancy himself condemned to an isolated 
existence, without affection or prospects, his great 
qualities of mind and heart had appeared in all their 
lustre and all their captivating charm. He had even 
assumed a gayety which, in the beginning of our 
acquaintance, I had been far from suspecting in 
him. It was sw r eet to me to think that I had played 
an intimate part in all these metamorphoses. 

But what touched me more than anything else 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


131 


was the absolute confidence he had in me. When 
I married him, I had said to myself that all world- 
ly life was ended for me, and I had honestly re- 
solved to renounce it ; it could not be agreeable to 
me to seek pleasures that my husband could not 
share. But he insisted that I should accompany his 
mother to some of the réunions of the French and 
foreign colony which was gayly whirling around us. 
I did not abuse his permission ; but I was happy to 
profit by it occasionally in order that I might re- 
ceive sometimes at my own house. I was naturally 
exposed on the part of some of our guests and neigh- 
bors to those gallantries that are addressed to every 
woman gifted with a passable exterior or a skillful 
dressmaker. An infirm and ailing husband might 
seem to offer an encouragement to these overtures ; 
but I met them with that tranquil reserve by which 
it is always easy for a woman to make it understood 
that she is not to be trifled with. My husband, with 
his delicate insight and subtile appreciation, spoke to 
me laughingly of these annoyances ; he took pride, 
I think, in showing me by his sovereign indifference 
how high was the position I held in his esteem above 
the shadow of a suspicion. I perfectly appreciated 


132 THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 

it in him, but his confidence seemed to me excessive, 
for it plunged me into a somewtat serious embar- 
rassment, which is unhappily connected with the 
greatest grief of my life. 

There was, then, as there always is,- at Mce a 
mixed society in which it was necessary make dis- 
tinctions. I am naturally a little excn^|fve, and I 
do not lend myself willingly to certain conciliations 
w r hich have become a little too fashionable in these 
latter days. M. de Louvercy, like all his sex, I 
think, was more tolerant and liberal than I in these 
matters. He pretended that my salon was a fold 
into which I admitted only sheep that were without 
blemish and incapable of going astray ; that it was 
dull, lacked sparkle, and, what is more, lacked chari- 
ty, for it was discouraging to sinners of both sexes, 
and calculated to drive them to final impenitence, to 
shut the doors of honest houses against them, where 
they might learn to amend their ways through the 
general good atmosphere and example. To all his 
arguments I was quite insensible ; I replied gayly that 
I had no mission to regenerate society, that having 
reformed him I had done enough for the edification 
of my life, and that I asked for nothing more. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


133 


In the spring of the third year of our sojourn 
in Nice, the young Prince Viviane came to live in 
the villa next to us. He brought with him a grand 
stud of horses, and a lady who was English, they 
said ; and she must have been, if one could judge 
by the prismatic splendor of her toilets. Although 
my grandmother was connected with the dowager- 
princess, I do not remember ever to have seen the 
son, who led a not very creditable life, sometimes 
at Paris, but oftener at the various watering-places. 
He had hardly arrived when our colony was scan- 
dalized by his unrestrained dissipations, his reckless 
gambling, and his equivocal household. My hus- 
band, who had been one of his college friends, and 
who still felt a sort of affection for him, was never- 
theless annoyed at his arrival, and especially at his 
proximity. However, it so happened that during 
the first of his stay at Nice we did not meet 
him. 

I was walking one morning with my daughter 
and her nurse in the garden of our villa, in which 
were terraces communicating with each other by long 
marble steps. The lowest of these terraces looked 
out upon the public road, which was reached by a 


134 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


final flight of about a dozen steps, with an iron gate 
at the foot, which stood open during the day. We 
were leaning on the railing and looking out at the 
white waves of the sea, which seemed to have a 
fascination for my daughter. The noise of ap- 
proaching horses drew our attention to the road, and 
we saw a few steps off a horseman accompanied by 
a lady in a very elaborate and very ugly riding- 
habit. As one of her many adornments, she wore 
a magnificent white feather, curled around her rid- 
ing-hat. She seemed to me, nevertheless, very beau- 
tiful. Just as this couple passed our garden, my 
little girl was seized with great excitement, which 
speedily degenerated into frenzy ; she stretched out 
her hands, screaming with all her might, while the 
nurse, who was an Italian, sang to her all her most 
soothing repertory. This concert caused the horse- 
man to raise his eyes ; he saw me, looked fixedly at 
me, and raised his hat. Then, reining in his horse, 
“ What is the matter with your baby, nurse ? ” cried 
he, laughing. Greatly surprised at this familiarity, 
I drew back a little and told the nurse not to reply. 
The woman did not understand, and coolly engaged 
in a dialogue with the horseman over the wall. “ I 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


135 


think,” she ended by saying, “ the little one wants 
madame’s white feather.” “ Give her your feather, 
Sarah,” said the young man, turning toward his 
companion, who immediately took the feather out 
of her hat and threw it in the direction of the ter- 
race. But the feather being too light fell down. 
The young man caught it on the fly, and threw it 
again with more force but with no greater success. 
“ Oh, well,” said he, very loud, “ I am going to take 
it to the little thing myself.” At the same instant 
the clink of the horse’s hoofs sounded on the marble 
steps ; the animal slipped, fell back, and shivered 
with fright. I heard all this from behind the dense 
orange-trees where I had taken refuge, and I was 
wondering in some terror what this escapade could 
be, when suddenly I saw him appear upon the 
smooth grass of the terrace like an equestrian statue 
and advance triumphantly toward us. He bowed 
again to me, this time profoundly, and leaned over 
to place the feather in the hands of the child, whom 
this sudden vision had already appeased. Then, 
raising his hat for the third time, he descended the 
steps on his horse, I do not know how. When I 
related this adventure to my husband, a few min- 


136 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


ntes after, he said : “ That must be Yiviane ; it is 
exactly his way.” 

It was he, in fact. The same evening he pre- 
sented himself at onr honse, giving as an excuse his 
old relations with M. de Louvercy. I saw a tall, 
fair-haired young man, very thin, with bold eyes, 
delicate, beautiful features, and a bored expression, 
a face of the court of the Yalois. He laughed read- 
ily, and was very witty. My husband received him 
with much cordiality. I was more reserved myself, 
and hardly thanked him for the trouble he had 
taken about the feather, not knowing exactly wheth- 
er his politeness was addressed to my daughter, the 
nurse, or myself. 

This visit was followed by many others at short 
intervals. I felt that his vivacity, and keen though 
often absurd humor, amused my husband ; still 
I could not bring myself to attract or to retain 
him. The prince had quite too much penetration 
and knowledge of the world not to perceive the icy 
reserve which I always manifested toward him ; and, 
in spite of his perfect self-possession, he seemed 
sometimes disconcerted. My husband noticed this, 
and even allowed it to annoy him. “ My dear 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


137 


child,” he said to me one day as the prince was 
leaving ns, “ Viviane is going away quite crushed. 
When it suits you, you can really treat people in 
the most petrifying manner imaginable. Tell me, 
what has this poor fellow done to you ? ” 

“ Nothing, dear.” 

“ No ? Does he bore you, then ? Is he too good- 
natured ? He amuses me, you know ; hut I will re- 
ceive him less amicably, to spare you the least an- 
noyance.” 

“ I assure you,” I replied, “ that there is abso- 
lutely nothing. I have never met the prince out- 
side of my own drawing-room, and there, you know, 
he is propriety itself.” 

“Well, then, my dear, permit me to say that you 
are not — you treat him with an indifference that is 
really wounding.” 

“ But, my dear, if I should encourage him ever 
so little, the first thing we know he will be bringing 
that young woman who is at his house.” 

“ Oh, no ! That is not a serious affair.” 

“ It may not be ; but what would you have ? I 
hate disorder in all its forms. You know I cannot 
bear to see a piece of furniture out of place ; and 


138 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN , . 


for the same reason I cannot endure a man out of 
the line of right and honor. For my part, I haven’t 
at all the weakness for fast men which they gener- 
ally attribute to my sex ; and, besides, this one has a 
special claim to the antipathy which I cannot avoid 
showing. You are not ignorant of the connection 
between his mother and my grandmother ; I have 
been a witness more than once to the tears and de- 
spair of the poor princess on the subject of her son ; 
and for a long time he has occupied a place in my 
imagination and esteem which his actual conduct, 
you must confess, is not of a nature to cause him to 
forfeit.” 

“ That is all very well, my dear, but as for the 
poor princess, I would dispense with my pity for 
her ; it was she who ruined her son by idolizing 
him on bended knee, and persuading him that 
heaven and earth were created for his particular 
amusement. I remember that she once bought for 
him a carriage and the goats at the Champs-Élysées. 
The result is that he is going to marry, so they say, 
this actress from Drury Lane. "Well, it is logical.” 

“ It is logical, my dear, but it is very unpleas- 


ant.” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


139 


It was a week before we again saw tbe prince at 
onr bonse. He came at last one morning and shut 
himself up with M. de Louvercy. They had a long 
conference, of which my husband afterward gave 
me an account. M. de Yiviane, it appeared, ex- 
cused himself for having stopped his visits, by 
alleging, with a sort of melancholy, that he had 
felt they were not agreeable to me. My husband, 
touched by his serious and mortified tone, replied 
to him confidentially that he ought not to be sur- 
prised that his somewhat unconventional life should 
be a trifle startling to a young woman brought up 
under the strictest principles ; that it depended en- 
tirely upon himself, moreover, to dissipate the un- 
favorable opinions which seemed to affect him so 
much, and that his friends of both sexes would 
gladly make their relations with him more easy and 
intimate. 

“ I am generally very indifferent to the opinion 
of the world,” said the prince, “ but I confess it has 
been hard for me to endure the contempt of Mme. 
de Louvercy.” 

“ There is no question of contempt, my dear fel- 
low,” said my husband ; “ it is only the embarrass- 


140 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


ment of the thing.” Thereupon they separated, the 
prince very pensive. 

Two days after, on my return from a walk, my 
husband told me that M. de Viviane had just gone 
away. “ I have asked him to dine with us to-mor- 
row,” added he. I opened my eyes wide; he be- 
gan to laugh, and said : “ He has sent the English- 
woman away, and invited his mother to come. That 
deserves some reward ! ” I agreed ; and, when the 
prince came next day, I extended my hand with 
more warmth than had been my custom. Ve be- 
came better friends from that day, and he was un- 
reservedly admitted into my circle. 

However, as if to recompense himself, he had 
thrown himself furiously into play; he generally 
lost, which did him honor. At the same time, he 
told me one evening that he had just won about 
thirty thousand francs at baccarat. “You are truly 
a terrible man,” replied I, shrugging my shoulders. 
“ When one raises you on one side, you fall on the 
other !” At that, he drew from his pocket a great 
roll of bank-bills, and presented them to me. 

“ For your poor,” said he. 

“ I accept,” said I, “ on one condition ; that is, 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


141 


that you give me your word never to touch a card 
again.” 

“ I give it to you.” 

And that is how I was enabled to send thirty 
thousand francs to my grandmother for her young 
apprentices’ charity. 

Finally — for he had a very complete assortment 
of vices — he presented himself at our house a little 
elevated, not to say intoxicated. There is nothing 
in the world of which I have so great a horror as a 
man in this state, and I wonder at the women — there 
are very many of them, alas ! — who think the thing 
a joke, or who do not even notice it. The prince 
could not fail to appreciate the sentiments which he 
inspired in me on such occasions as this. He tried 
to control himself, and became reasonably sober. 
And thus he crowned that series of reformations? 
accomplished through my entreaties, and seemingly 
dedicated to me. These little triumphs, which di- 
verted my husband (he laughed to see the prince 
modestly holding worsted at my feet) did not fail to 
interest and flatter me also ; but at the same time 
they alarmed me a little. I thought over all these 
sacrifices, asking myself if he did not expect some 


142 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


compensation for them. These vague apprehensions 
continued to keep me on the defensive with him, 
and this did not escape his notice. We were walk- 
ing one evening on one of the terraces ; the beauty 
of the night, the almost suffocating odor of the 
orange-trees and violets with which the air was 
charged, had the effect of raising his discourse to 
the most poetic and sentimental heights. As I re- 
called him to earth rather dryly, “ Great Heavens ! 
madame,” said he, “ I do not know what more I can 
do to disarm your suspicions. To please you, I have 
thrown all my faults into the sea, one after the other. 
I have deprived myself of everything; I play no 
more, I drink no more, etc. What do you wish now ? 
Shall I turn monk to please you ? Tell me !” “I 
wish only one thing more,” I replied, simply; 
“ that is, that you should never make me question 
your friendship for my husband.” He bowed very 
respectfully, and from that moment every equivocal 
shade disappeared from his language. 

It was about this time that Cécile and her hus- 
band came to see us at Nice for the second time. 
My correspondence with Cécile had not ceased to 
be very frequent. To judge by her letters she was 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


143 


happy, although she seemed to seek her principal 
pleasures in worldly life. I found her more beauti- 
ful and very charming, but in no way modified by 
her marriage, and as volatile as ever. There was 
a constraint in her attitude toward her husband 
which struck me forcibly. As for him, he seemed 
very gentle toward her, but very reserved. I was 
astonished and almost frightened this second time to 
feel how much he had retained his influence over 
me, in spite of the time which had elapsed. I could 
not hear the sound of his voice without being deep- 
ly moved. He had not been twenty-four hours with 
us whén I sought some means of abridging his stay. 
He furnished it himself by a very ill-advised indis- 
cretion, which I have explained to myself since, but 
which at the time seemed perfectly incomprehen- 
sible. 

Had my husband discovered in his heart some 
secret warning of what was passing in mine ? Or 
did he feel the first approaches of the cruel malady 
which threatened him ? I know not ; but after the 
first days which followed the arrival of M. and Mme. 
d’Éblis he grew very gloomy. One morning M. 
d’Éblis asked me, in a tone of embarrassment, if I 


X44 THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 

had remarked this alteration in Roger’s character. 
Upon my replying in the affirmative, he permitted 
himself, half laughing and half seriously, to allude 
to the assiduities of the Prince de Viviane toward 
me, allowing it to be understood that they might 
awaken the susceptibilities of my husband. I knew 
that M. de Louvercy was perfectly at ease, and 
that he was even too much so, on the score of the 
prince. I was certain, therefore, that the Com- 
mandant d’Éblis was not in this instance his inter- 
preter, and that he was speaking on his own account. 
That annoyed me beyond expression. I am not a 
saint. I had pardoned him as well as I could for 
having preferred Cécile to myself, and for having 
married her after making love to me ; but that he 
should pretend, after all that, to arrogate to himself 
the right of conjugal surveillance over me, was a 
little too much. “ My dear sir,” said I to him, 
“ since you have the kindness to interest yourself in 
the secrets of my fireside, and in my domestic peace, 
I would say to you that you are at the same time 
right and wrong in your suppositions. You are 
right, I believe, to attribute the moodiness of my 
husband to a slight feeling of jealousy, but you are 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


145 


absolutely mistaken as to the object.” At these 
words be became very pale, bowed, and left me. 
Two days after be announced to us that be bad been 
called back to Paris, and be set out the same even- 
ing, leaving bis wife with us. 

I remember that the day after his departure 
Cécile suddenly asked me a singular question. “ Do 
you believe,” said she, “ that my husband is happy ? ” 

“ Surely, my dear, you ought to know better 
than I.” 

“ I fear,” replied she, shaking her pretty little 
head — “ I fear that he is not ; I am too frivolous, 
too worldly, too much carried away by pleasure. I 
drag him after me like a martyr, poor man ! I re- 
proach myself for it, and I continue. It is always 
the demon which is in me, you know. He has not 
complained ? He has not told you that he was un- 
happy ? Truly ? ” 

I told her with truth that I had received no con- 
fidences from M. d’Éblis, and she speedily resumed 
her good-humor. She remained with us about a 
fortnight ; and, though my friendship for her was 
still as active and as tender as ever, I did not see 
her depart without relief. Even perfectly honest a 
7 


146 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


woman as she was, she was too brilliant to be easily 
protected. The five parts of the world, which have 
their representatives at Nice, buzzed around in 
swarms, and my husband pretended that he would 
have to put her night and day under guard. Very 
blase with all this kind of homage, she still liked 
it, and felt a little ill-will toward those who refused 
it to her. So it was that she was piqued by the 
marked indifference shown her by Prince de Vivi- 
ane. She said that I had made a dunce of him, and 
that I would have to lead him about with a rose- 
colored ribbon. 

Alas ! all gayety went with her. Some weeks 
after her departure, my husband’s health, which 
seemed to have become more settled, altered mate- 
rially ; the most frightful and aggravating symptoms 
succeeded each other. The remainder of his poor 
life was nothing more than an agony for him and 
for me, and toward the end of the following winter 
I had the terrible grief of losing him. After so 
much severe suffering he died very calmly, thank- 
ing me for having given him a few happy years. 
M. d’Éblis, who had come to help him in his last 
anguish, mourned him despairingly. I pass briefly 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


147 


over these bitter memories : God knows that the 
expression of my grief, violent as it was, did not 
lack sincerity, but at the time at which I write it 
would be wanting in propriety. 

I passed the first months of my mourning with 
my mother-in-law, and then I came to Paris to live 
with my grandmother, expecting henceforth to di- 
vide my existence between these two dear relatives. 

Great moral agitations, like that which had come 
to me, seem at first to suspend life ; our tastes, our 
feelings, our passions, are dumb, as if stupefied by 
the blow, and one fancies them dead. Little by 
little the heart begins to beat, the mind to think, 
and it is at first almost an added grief — this im- 
portunate persistence of life. Then one reconciles 
one’s self to it, for God has willed it so. 

In my new existence my daughter naturally held 
the first place ; but this interest, great as it was, did 
not absorb my whole heart. I had again found dear 
friends at Paris, and among the dearest and most 
faithful were Cécile and her husband. I saw Cécile 
almost every day; she recounted to me, with her 
sparkling animation, the current stories of the city 


148 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


and the world at large ; she enlivened my solitude, 
she lavished the tenderest attentions npon me, and 
my affection for her returned in all its strength. I 
saw her husband more rarely ; but he neglected no 
opportunity to he useful or agreeable to me. In the 
grievous trials through which I had passed, in the 
midst of the sad details which always accompany 
such events, and the painful questions of business 
which must be attended to, he showed a fraternal 
devotion for and assistance to me. The will of M. 
de Louvercy had made him the guardian of my 
daughter, and he seemed to have transferred to her 
the only passionate sentiment of his life — the heroic 
friendship he had felt for her father. It is needless 
to say that I had completely pardoned the strange 
indiscretion which he had committed in relation to 
Prince de Viviane. He remembered it himself only 
to seek to repair it by treating the prince with a 
particularly good grace wherever he met him, and 
especially at my house. For M. de Viviane was 
living then at Paris, and I received him often and 
familiarly, having had only perfect satisfaction to 
feel with him during the last months of my stay at 
Nice. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


149 


The only grief which M. d’Éblis caused me he 
did involuntarily and unconsciously. I could only 
reproach myself for the restless kind of pleasure 
with which I awaited his visits, and the secret emo- 
tion by which I felt agitated in his presence. But 
I hoped sincerely that this unfortunate remnant of 
my old attachment would vanish little by little, and 
finally lose itself in the round of daily habits. I 
hoped so all the more as his respectful courtesy and 
his cold and grave manner toward me were calcu- 
lated to calm my heart rather than trouble it. 

However, I occupied myself with extreme, and as 
I thought then, purely affectionate solicitude, with 
his attitude toward Cécile and the state of their 
relations, and the turn their marriage had taken. 
Nothing appeared to me more singular and more 
mysterious than their position toward each other 
and their mutual bearing. As I had noticed at 
Nice from several clear intimations, it was Cécile 
who, contrary to all logic, appeared to have usurped 
the sceptre in this household. She had seized the 
authority which the intellectual and moral superi- 
ority of her husband ought so naturally to have 
exercised, and M. d’Éblis, to all appearances, did 


150 


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not suffer from it. He submitted to the worldly 
and dissipated tastes of bis young wife with an in- 
difference and resignation that were inexplicable. 
After having for a long time accompanied her into 
society which he did not enjoy, he commenced to 
allow her to go alone. All this surprised me much. 
I asked myself what passed between them in their 
private life, whether they loved each other, whether 
they were happy. Hot being able to question either 
of them upon points so delicate, I studied curious- 
ly, almost with avidity, their language, their conduct, 
the expression of their faces, their manner toward 
each other, in order to throw some light on the 
matter. But M. d’Éblis, with his severe grace, had 
an impassibility, sometimes grave, sometimes smil- 
ing like a sphinx, and Cécile was equally baffling in 
her very frivolity. 

The world, like myself, was astonished at the 
peculiarities which this household offered, and had 
even begun to talk of them. One day the Com- 
mandant d’Éblis was at my house when Prince de 
Viviane arrived. M. d’Éblis, following his custom, 
sometimes a trifle too polite, withdrew almost im- 
mediately, after having exchanged a few friendly 


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151 


words with the prince. When he had gone : “ Your 
cousin, there,” said M. de Viviane, pleases me in- 
finitely, but he is a veritable enigma to me.” 

“ Why, an enigma ? ” 

“ Because, with all the goodness and all the 
honor in the world, he seems to have sworn to al- 
low his charming wife to be ruined.” 

“ I really do not understand you.” 

“ What ! Don’t you see that he leaves her to her- 
self more and more ? He does even worse than leav- 
ing her to herself, as he allows her to take Mme. God- 
frey for a chaperon.” 

“ Who is this Mme. Godfrey ? ” 

“ Mme. Godfrey, madame, was formerly a very 
beautiful and much-courted woman, to say no worse 
of her ; to-day she is one of those stars that are in 
their declension, and which, being unable to pretend 
to direct homage, manage to receive it in reflection 
by surrounding themselves with young satellites, 
and profiting by their reflection.” 

“ I thank you for this information,” said I, “ and, 
if Mme. Godfrey is in fact a dangerous companion, 
be sure that Cécile will at once break olf her rela- 
tions with her. For the rest, I am going to explain 


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to you in one word what appears so inexplicable in 
the conduct of M. d’Éblis. M. d’Éblis has confi- 
dence in his wife, and permit me to assure you that 
confidence was never better placed. I have known 
Cécile from childhood, and with all her apparent 
giddiness, with or without Mme. Godfrey, I affirm 
that she is incapable of a wrong thought.” 

“ Oh, of course ! Yes, hitherto, certainly ! ” 
replied the prince. “All women begin by being 
honest ; but, when they lead this kind of a life, 
wrong thoughts come quickly, and wrong actions 
even more quickly. It is very inconsistent, but it 
is true.” 

“ Prince, these are your old man’s memories of 
the time when you doubted if there were any up- 
right women in the world.” 

“ On my honor, now as always, I believe there 
are a few. Pardon me ! Allow me ! I am speak- 
ing only of the worldly ones, the excited and giddy 
ones who do not stop to take breath. "Well, ma- 
dame, will you credit my experience, which is quite 
considerable for its age? You have a daughter. 
Being born of you and educated by you, she can 
only be a good woman. Believe me, however, never 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


153 


have the weakness to allow her to become passion- 
ately fond of the world, at least not absorbingly. I 
am going to tell yon some horrible things, but we 
men have one maxim which has become an axiom ; 
it is that a woman, however honest she may he, 
ceases to be so after a heated carnival, or even — 
you will shudder — after three or four hours of a 
cotillion. Then arises a physiological phenomenon 
which I confine myself to merely indicating to you ; 
hut in short, it is no longer a woman that we hold 
in our arms, no longer a thinking and conscious 
being; it is no longer anything but — how shall I 
tell you ? — a sensitive plant ready to droop and fade 
at the slightest touch.” 

I did not attach any undue importance to these 
impertinent theories ; but the language of the prince, 
without leaving in my mind any doubt of Cécile, 
did not the less confirm my personal observations of 
the mysterious and troubled character of her house- 
hold. 

A circumstance which immediately followed my 
conversation with M. de Viviane will serve to ex- 
plain what I mean : Cécile and her husband were 
dining with me one day ; Cécile, who was looking 


154 


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her best and in a dazzling toilet, was going to a ball 
in the evening with Mme. Godfrey, who called for 
her at half-past nine. My grandmother, being a 
little indisposed, kept her room, so that my daughter 
and I were left alone with M. d’Éblis. My daughter 
ought to have been in bed ; but, as with all children, 
a great deal of urging was required to accomplish 
this ceremony, and, at the request of her guardian, 
I had granted her a reprieve. Immediately after 
Cécile’s departure, feeling a little embarrassed by 
this sort of tête-à-tête with M. d’Éblis, I seated my- 
self at the piano : M. d’Éblis sat upon a sofa at the 
other end of the salon , , and, while playing some one 
of Chopin’s melodies, I heard him talking in low 
tones with my daughter, whom he petted a great 
deal, and whose very great friend he was. After a 
little while they both became silent ; I had a mirror 
before me, and, raising my eyes to it, I saw M. 
d’Êblis leaning on the table, his forehead on his 
hand. A minute after, my daughter, who had ap- 
proached me with hesitating steps, pulled me gently 
by the sleeve ; I leaned a little to one side without 
stopping my playing, and the child whispered in 
my ear, “ Mamma, he is crying ! ” At this confidence 


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155 


of the poor little one, a sort of languid intoxication 
diffused itself throughout my veins, and my whole 
being. These are momentous seconds in the life of 
a woman. 

The door opened ; the nurse came after my 
daughter. I kissed her, she went to kiss M. d’Êblis, 
and retired. 

I continued to play without daring to raise my 
eyes to the glass, and I tried to collect my thoughts 
and understand clearly what was passing. The sud- 
den emotion of M. d’Éblis in the presence of my 
daughter and me, after the departure of his wife, 
left me no doubt that he was profoundly unhappy. 
Anything more I could not get even a glimpse of. 
But, if I could not read his heart, I read my own 
clearly, and what I discovered there frightened me. 
I could no longer deceive myself as to the kind of 
interest that induced me to study Cécile’s domestic 
secrets so curiously. I loved her husband, and I 
loved him enough to desire the disruption of his 
household, and to rejoice in it. 

A thousand times in my life I have observed 
that it does not depend on ourselves to experience 
or not to experience criminal feelings, but that it 


156 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


does always depend upon ourselves not to allow 
them to pass into actions. I have observed, further, 
that the best and perhaps the only means of com- 
bating and conquering evil passions is not to op- 
pose to them abstract arguments of reason, con- 
science, or honor, but to act against them effectively, 
and in a manner to force the hand to do good when 
the heart desires evil. 

My resolution taken, I w r anted to execute it 
without delay. 

It required, first of all, a frank and complete ex- 
planation with M. d’Éblis. This was a trial whose 
dangers I did not disguise from myself, although I 
was far from foreseeing all their gravity. But it 
seemed to me necessary to bear them ; and, in the 
excitement of my enthusiasm, I believed myself 
certain of conquering them. 

I left the piano suddenly and approached M. 
d’Éblis, who pretended to be attentively reading. 
“ I want to speak with you,” said I to him ; “ come 
into the garden, please.” 

He looked at me with an air of extreme aston- 
ishment, rose without replying, and followed me. 

Our hotel in the Hue St. Dominique, by rare 


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157 


good fortune, preserved its secular garden, to which 
an environment of high walls, groups of gigantic 
palms, a bubbling fountain, and a vaulted green- 
house, lent the sweet and solemn aspect of the yard 
of a Spanish cloister. The salon on the ground- 
floor is approached by two or three steps. Although 
it was then the middle of November, the evening 
was exceptionally serene and mild. We took a few 
steps in silence. I still hear, and I shall hear all 
my life, that silence, broken only by the rustle of the 
dry leaves under our feet and the murmur of the 
little fountain. 

At last, summoning all my courage, “ Monsieur,” 
said I to him, “ you know to what extent I carry 
my love for order and my dislike to disorder ; it is 
a passion, a mania about which you have often teased 
me, but which you pardon in me, do you not? 
Well, will you permit me to reëstablish order in a 
household in which I am much interested ? ” 

“ In what household, madame ? ” said he, quite 
severely, taking his place beside me on the bench 
where I had seated myself. 

“ In what but yours, naturally ? I am sensible 
— do not doubt it — of the extent of my indiscre- 


158 


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tion ; but, if my friendship for Cécile and for you 
does not suffice to excuse it in your eyes, remember 
that you were good enough to ask my advice before 
marrying Cécile, that I advised that union, and allow 
me to discharge my responsibility.” 

“ But, madame, I reproach you with nothing.” 

“ And you are right ; that would be very unjust, 
for, if you had followed the advice that I allowed 
myself to give you — at your own entreaty, more- 
over — you would both be happy ; and you are not, 
either of you.” 

• “ Pardon me, madame, but it seems to me that 
Cécile at least, whom I allow the most entire free- 
dom, should be perfectly happy.” 

“ Cécile does not complain,” said I, with some 
warmth ; “ but to suppose that she can be perfectly 
happy when you live your life and she hers, when 
you neglect her, when you intrust her to the first 
comer, when you prove to her more and more that 
you care neither for her affection nor even for her 
reputation, is to suppose that she has no intelligence, 
nor heart, nor honor — and I know that she has them 
all!” 

“ Good Heavens, madame ! ” he returned, in a 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


159 


constrained voice, that was nevertheless moved and 
unsteady, “neither am I accustomed to complain, 
but really you force me to it. Tell me, have you 
ever thought of the fate of a man occupied with 
serious thoughts, loving work, and ambitious of the 
honor that it brings, who has dreamed of the joys 
of study in the charm and retirement of his fireside, 
and whom his wife drags after her day and night 
into the noisy emptiness and perpetual whirl of fash- 
ionable life*! It is very well to feel that duty, and 
evSh prudence, demands that he should follow her 
— when he sees at last that her whole life is passed 
there — that this child, this simpleton to whom he is 
bound, robs him, degrades him, destroys his intelli- 
gence, his future, his dignity, his life — what would 
you have then ? — he loses heart, he gives up, dis- 
couraged in everything, and utterly resigned ! ” 
Surprised and almost frightened by this violent 
outburst from a soul habitually so much the master 
of itself, I said to him, more gently : “ But come, 
monsieur, frankly, have you in all sincerity made 
every effort to reform Cécile’s tastes \ ” 

After a long pause, “ I have made none,” he 
said, coldly. 


160 


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“ Surely, then, you are much to blame. I told 
you once, and I repeat it to-day with the same con- 
viction, with the same certainty : Cécile was a spoiled 
child, hut her faults were only superficial ; she loved 
and respected you ; you had entire control over her, 
and there were no sacrifices that you could not have 
obtained from her ! ” 

“And by what right could I have demanded 
them of her?” resumed M. d’Éblis. “My con- 
science was clear. What had I to give her in ex- 
change for the pleasures that she might have sacri- 
ficed for me ? One asks such sacrifices only from 

<* * — 

the woman one loves ! ” 

“ From the woman one loves ! Great Heavens ! 
do you speak of Cécile ? What ! when you married 
Cécile, you did not love her ! ” 

“ Never ! ” said he, with emphasis. Then he 
added, in a lower tone, very rapidly : “ Oh ! I did 
not deceive her ; God is my witness ! I deceived 
only myself — and you ! ” 

At this the whole truth became clear to me. I 
rose in utter distraction. A cry escaped me : “ Ah, 
unhappy man, what have you done ? ” 

“ I have done,” said he, “ what you will under- 


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161 


stand better than any one else. I throw myself npon 
yonr mercy ! O madame, I did not seek this con- 
versation ; I would have shunned it rather, for doubt- 
less it will separate us forever. So be it ! But, since 
we have come to it, my heart must unburden itself 
at last ! You must know all. Let me finish, I beg 
of you ! I am speaking to you, you see, with pro- 
found respect. Well! will you recall the past? 
"When Roger revealed to me his fatal passion for 
you, when I understood that I must choose between 
you and him, that I could no longer love you with- 
out consigning him to despair — to suicide, perhaps 
— I sacrificed myself. And then, by a courageous 
effort — which I believed possible, which I believed 
sincere — I tried to transfer my love to that child, 
whom you loved, who was entirely enveloped by the 
reflection of your charm and your tenderness. Yes, 
I believed I loved her ; but it was still you that I 
loved in her. And, though this word must be the 
last I shall pronounce before you, to-day, as then, it 
is you only, you of all the world, whom I love ! ” 

I heard all this in a stupor, my eyes fixed on the 
darkness. Suddenly, at the poignant thought of 
this lost happiness, my tears fell in spite of myself. 


162 


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He leaned forward a little and saw my emotion. 
“ Yon weep ! ” said lie. “ Is it true, then, is it pos- 
sible \ Yon also — yon love me ? — you have suffered 
like me ? Great God, do not tell me so ! Do not 
let me think it, if you do not wish to make me lose 
all sense of right and honor that is left me ! ” 

My hand rested gently on his arm, and I said to 
him : w It is not I, monsieur, I hope, who would ever 
cause you to lose either reason or honor ; but I loved 
you much — I love you still ! If you are worthy to 
hear such an avowal from the lips of an honest wom- 
an, I am about to prove it. I cannot stifle the emo- 
tions of my heart, but I can at least — and I rely 
upon it that you can also — raise them high enough 
to purify them. We will not separate like two 
feeble creatures who are afraid of becoming the mis- 
erable sport of their passions. Let us guard our 
mutual affection bravely, and give it a new charac- 
ter — make of it an almost sacred tie, uniting us both 
in a generous copartnership to secure the best we 
know.- You know already what task I had proposed 
to myself before I knew the truth. I hold to it 
now more than ever. Aid me loyally to accomplish 
it, aid me to reconquer for you the heart of your 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


163 


wife ; I promise you to help her conquer yours. 
Will you ? If you say yes, I esteem you so highly 
that I shall place my hand in yours with absolute 
confidence ; otherwise — farewell ! ” 

He reflected for a few seconds, then without 
speaking he tendered me his hand. I rose imme- 
diately, and we returned to the salon. “You will 
send Cécile to me to-morrow,” I said to him ; “ I 
wish to begin my preachments very gently. As for 
you, I will not tell you to be indulgent with her ; 
you are too much so already. On the contrary, 
scold her; I am sure she will be charmed to be 
chided by you. It is indifference which alienates 
us women ! ” 

He bowed, walked off a few steps, and then 
turning — “ Good Heavens ! ” said he, “I forgot — 
you know I leave to-morrow with the general for a 
month or six weeks — an inspection in the provinces. 
It is extremely annoying.” 

“ Perhaps not,” said I, “ for during her widow- 
hood Cécile will necessarily be more retired ; it will 
be a beginning. On your side, you will have time 
for reflection, and on your return you will know 
better if you are really capable of keeping the en- 


164 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


gagement that you have just taken somewhat hastily, 
it seems to me, somewhat lightly — ” 

“ No,” said he, in his gentle and resolute voice, 
“ not lightly. I understood you at once. My life 
was lost ; your friendship raises it again and rescues 
it. What you propose to me is very lofty, very 
heroic, but you will carry me to it on your wings. 
Farewell, madame. Trust me.” And he left me. 

I passed a sleepless but happy night. I was 
satisfied with myself. I had conquered a great 
temptation. If ever a woman should read this, and 
if she has ever met in her life a man whom she had 
wished to press to her heart once though she should 
die in doing it, she will understand me. 

The next afternoon Cécile came to me and told 
me that her husband had set out that morning for 
Brittany. “ My dear,” said she, “ that frigid individ- 
ual astonished me. He begged me to write to him 
every day. Can you fancy such an idea ? I thought, 
however, it was mere absence of mind, and that he 
doesn’t attach any importance to it. And he is 
right, for certainly I shall not write him every day.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Have I time ? But it is absurd. I will send 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


165 


him dispatches: c Are you very well? I am! A 
thousand kisses! Cécile.’ It will be quite suffi- 
cient.” 

“ But tell me, Cécile, do you not intend to re- 
main at home a little more during your husband’s 
absence ? ” 

“ Remain at home ? What do you wish me to 
do at home ? Besides, what difference does it make ? 
Whether my husband is present or absent, seems 
much the same thing so far as I can see ! ” 

“ Cécile, be serious a moment, I beg you, and let 
us talk this over.” 

“ Yes, my angel.” 

“ Don’t you tire of this life a little ? ” 

“ Ro, my treasure ! ” 

“ Ah, well ! I confess I am beginning to love 
you less.” 

She clasped me round the neck. “ That is not 
true ! ” 

I tried a while longer to draw her into an in- 
timate and confidential conversation; she did not 
resist directly, but she constantly eluded it and es- 
caped with some jest. I saw that my task would be 
more difficult than I had supposed, and that the dear 


166 


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child had acquired a terrible relish for her fatal 
manner of living. But I was still persuaded that 
I could, with a little perseverance, recapture this 
noble heart, whose essential virtues I knew so well. 

She had already begun to defend herself, with 
rather more embarrassment, when Prince Viviane 
was announced, and she was evidently much relieved 
to have this pretext to escape me this time. She 
rose, threw a few sarcastic remarks at the prince — 
for she held a constant grudge against him for what 
she called his infatuation, that is to say his indiffer- 
ence toward her — then she went out. As I accom- 
panied her into the antechamber — 

“ My lovely preacher,” said she, laughingly, “ I 
am going to take my revenge. You reproach me, 
or you would like to reproach me, with my manner 
of life, which is a little flighty, I confess ; but, if 
you should consult my husband, I imagine that he 
would prefer to leave me in my whirlwind rather 
than see me seated at my fireside four or five times 
a week with such a man as that. What do you 
think % ” 

“What! Does M. d’Éblis disapprove of my 
receiving the prince ? ” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


167 


“Not exactly, but I really believe that be is 
jealous even now on account of bis poor friend 
Roger, for he cannot endure your prince. And the 
fact is, my dear, that be comes here very often ; I 
assure you it is talked about.” 

“ Ah, well, my dear,” said I, “ I will prove to 
you that I can profit by good advice, and I hope 
that you will imitate my example.” 

“ Yes, my love ; I adore you ! ” and she ran 
away. 

I rejoined the jDrince, meditating on that mali- 
cious insinuation of Cécile’s. However, it only 
made me hasten to execute a resolution that I had 
already taken. For some time past the attentions 
of the prince had really become very frequent, and 
they began to annoy me. Nevertheless, his wit 
amused me, his language with me never forgot re- 
spect ; finally, the improvement in his life had not 
changed since his return to Paris, and, as that im- 
provement was in part my work, I tried to preserve 
it. So it could not enter my mind to. give him a 
humiliating dismissal; I simply desired to divest 
our relations of the too intimate character that he 
more and more studied to give them. 


168 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


In the course of our conversation, he himself 
furnished me with the opportunity I sought by ask- 
ing me if I would be at home that evening. “ Yes,” 
said I, laughingly, “ I shall be — but not to you ! ” 

“ Why not to me ? ” 

“ Because your time is too precious, prince, for 
me to abuse it so far.” 

“ You have had enough of me ? ” 

“ I have not had enough of you — but I do not 
wish too much,” I returned, in the same tone. 
“ Come, you do not intend to compromise me, do 
you ? ” 

“ Ah ! but I beg your pardon,” said he, gayly. 

“ Still more reason, then. I have a friendship 
for you, but I shall really be obliged to receive you 
less frequently.” 

I was surprised at the serious expression that his 
features suddenly assumed. 

“ I must explain, then,” said he. “ I wished to 
wait a little time longer ; but I see that the moment 
is come for it. It is true that I have multiplied my 
visits unscrupulously, because my feelings for you 
justified the indiscretion in my eyes. I love you, 
madame, and my love does not date from yesterday. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


169 


Pardon me ! I know perfectly to whom I am speak- 
ing. I know that such an avowal addressed to such 
a woman as you has no two interpretations possible ; 
for one to offer his heart to you is to offer you his 
name. You have made yourself mistress of my 
life ; by your goodness you have made a new man 
of me — a better man. Will you be kind enough, 
charitable enough, to accomplish your work ? May 
I hope that one day you will deign to be my wife ? ” 

This unexpected proposal caused me more sur- 
prise and annoyance than uneasiness. Wishing to 
spare the prince the mortification of a too abrupt 
and too absolute a refusal, I said to him, hesitating a 
little, that I was sincerely grateful for so marked 
an evidence of esteem, but that he took me quite 
by surprise ; that I could not complain of a propo- 
sal so unexpected, since I had in a measure provoked 
it in spite of myself, but that my bereavement was 
still too recent to permit me even to discuss it. I 
begged him, therefore, to speak of it to me no more. 

While accepting the most extended delay that I 
could desire to impose upon him, he earnestly insist- 
ed upon obtaining a less vague answer — a word of 
hope. Honesty preventing me from giving him 
8 


170 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


this satisfaction, I was under the necessity of em- 
phasizing my refusal. I said plainly to him, al- 
though with consideration and courtesy, that I had 
taken a firm resolution to devote myself to my 
daughter, and never to remarry. 

There was doubtless some chagrin, but there 
was, above all, what seemed to me spite, anger, and 
wounded pride, in the countenance and accent of 
the prince, after I had made him this formal decla- 
ration. I again perceived in him, under the refined 
manner of the man of the world, the spoiled child 
whose caprices had always been laws, and who must 
have formerly broken the playthings that had been 
refused him. His pale and almost sallow counte- 
nance was painfully contracted ; his eyelids opened 
and closed spasmodically, and his eyes shot out an 
evil light at me. I was going to make of him, he 
said to me in broken accents, a despairing man — a 
profligate ! I was going to plunge him again into 
the slough which he had come out of to please me ! 
At my age I could not seriously entertain the 
thought of remaining a widow; doubtless I was 
waiting for a better match. I would, perhaps, re- 
gret him one day ; I would repent having refused 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


m 

him my hand. One became wicked when one was 
unhappy ; and much more of the same sort, which 
seemed to me in deplorable taste. I observed with 
sadness that where vice has been there always re- 
mains a depth of mire. I was soon to appreciate 
this more fully. 

Finally, he felt that he was insulting me, or 
rather that he was losing his own self-respect. He 
recollected himself, apologized, tried to turn his 
ravings into jest, and left me on good enough terms, 
begging me in spite of all to preserve my friendship 
for him. I promised it to him, but promised myself 
the contrary. For I had never had much confidence 
in him, and I had no longer any at all. 

Five or six days passed. Surprised not to see 
Cécile again, for she was not accustomed to let so 
long an interval elapse between her visits, I decided 
to go to her house, without much hope of meeting 
her, for she lunched every day with some one or 
other. However, I found her, but it was in the 
company of Prince Viviane, who was seated oppo- 
site her at the fireside. On seeing him there, I 
could not resist a painful impression — an oppression 
of the heart. I knew that until that time the prince 


172 


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had never set foot in Oécile’s house, and that she 
had even bitterly complained of it. This change of 
habit annoyed me, and my annoyance was not les- 
sened when I learned by some allusions that escaped 
them that this visit had been preceded by another a 
few days before, and, further, they were to meet the 
same evening at Mine. Godfrey’s, where they both 
were to dine. It was impossible for me not to 
establish a connection in my thoughts between these 
unusual circumstances and the equivocal, almost 
menacing words that the prince had left me for 
adieux. He knew of my sisterly affection for Cé- 
cile ; had he formed a project of disturbing me at 
least by transferring to my best friend the attentions 
which I no longer desired, and avenging himself 
upon her for my disdain ? However unworthy and 
despicable such a design might be, I was not so ig- 
norant of the world as to be unaware that the embit- 
tered soul of a libertine was capable of conceiving 
it. This man, it is time, in offering to marry me 
had seemed to give token of some honest and seri- 
ous feeling; but it was because he had found me 
beautiful, and had seen no other means of becoming 
master of my person. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


173 


I waited impatiently till he should go. Hardly 
was I alone with Cécile when I fell on my knees 
before her, and, kissing her hands, I said, “ Let me 
speak to you — will you ? ” 

“ Speak, golden mouth ! but speak quickly, for 
I must dress. You know I do not dine at home.” 

“ Will you give me an immense pleasure, my 
dear ? Do not dress ; send a word of regret to this 
Mme. Godfrey, who is not thought well of, by-the- 
way, and come and dine with your old, old friend.” 

“ Ah, we are still at it ! ” said Cécile, laughing, 
but a little awkwardly. “Well, then, let us ex- 
haust the subject. I wish it very much. Upon my 
honor, what do you reproach me with ? Do I mis- 
conduct myself ? Come, do you believe that ? Ho, 
you do not believe it ; you know that I am simply 
what I have always been — a little creature who has 
quicksilver in her veins, who loves movement, ex- 
citement, gayety, compliments, the dance — all the 
tra la la of life ; but, in fine, an honest little creature 
w T ho does no wrong — who is devoted to her friends 
and faithful to her husband ! What more is neces- 
sary for her \ ” 

“ My dear little one, I do not blame you for lov- 


174 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


ing pleasure ; I blame you for loving only that. 
You bad formerly — allow me to remind you — a 
more serious and true conception of life ; in our 
girlish conversations we imagined something better 
than this endless dissipation, and this kind of intoxi- 
cation in which you so strangely delight. We used 
to give a place, a great place, in our future exist- 
ence to more intimate, more select, more worthy 
pleasures. Good Heavens ! you do nothing wrong, 
to be sure, but you do nothing good. For example, 
you do nothing to elevate your tastes, your senti- 
ments, your ideas ; you develop yourself only in the 
direction of your weaknesses. Then, too, believe 
me, this continual lightness of conduct, of attitude, 
of language, is not without danger in the long-run ; 
for all serious things in this world are bound to- 
gether somehow. Honesty and virtue are grave 
things which need to rest upon a serious foundation 
of existence. They are scattered in the whirl and 
frivolity of a wholly exterior life. Little by little 
they lose the consistency and solidity which are es- 
sential to them, and without which they no longer 
have force enough to rule our passions. Thus a 
woman finds herself suddenly unarmed before the 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


175 


least temptation, the least excitement. In short, I 
beg yon, my dear child, to stop where you are in 
this downward course, and let me add that the ab- 
sence of your husband furnishes you with a very 
natural excuse, and that it even imposes it upon you 
as a duty ! ” 

She listened to me, alas ! in a kind of impa- 
tient abstraction, tapping the carpet with her little 
foot. 

“ Well, be it so ! ” she returned, “ it is possible ; 
“ perhaps there is some truth in your sermon ; I 
will think of it; but, as for this evening, I have 
formally promised Mme. Godfrey — and I shall go.” 

“No, I beg of you ! ” 

“ But, really, why this insistance ? Why do you 
so particularly desire that I should not go to Mme. 
Godfrey’s this evening ? Be frank ; it is on account 
of Prince Viviane, whom you were displeased to 
find with me ! ” 

“ Good Heavens ! Very likely,” said I. 

“ How very pleasing ! You reserve him exclu- 
sively for yourself, it appears ! ” 

“ I reserve him for myself so little that I have 
refused his heart and hand which he wished to offer 


176 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


me, one accompanying the other, five days ago. If 
I betray this secret, it is because I feel myself al- 
most forced to it to put you on your guard against a 
man whom I believe to be infinitely dangerous. I 
shall be at ease now ; for, supposing that he intends 
to make love to you — as he seems disposed to do — 
you will be edified by the sincerity of the senti- 
ments he will express for you. I know your deli- 
cacy and pride, and I know what reception a re- 
jected lover who dares to ask consolation from you 
may hope for.” 

She stood up in front of me, her eyes on the fire. 
“ I do not believe you,” she cried — “ I do not 
believe a word that you have just said ! Confess 
the truth : you are jealous — that is it ! ” 

“ Cécile, is it you who are speaking ? ” 

“Yes, it is I; and, I tell you, you are jealous! 
What ! for two years or more you have been accus- 
tomed to seeing the prince tcte-à-tête every day, or 
nearly every day — and that is quite natural — that is 
perfectly proper — and, since he happens to come to 
me twice, everything is upset! You are jealous! 
Well, never mind, I will return you your prince. 
I’m sure I don’t keep him.” 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


177 


“ All ! my poor child, where have you learned 
that tone ? Do you know, you offend me ? ” 

“ Indeed it is you who have offended me for the 
last hour ; and you always have, by treating me like 
an unreasoning child, and a woman without honor ! 
Never mind; good - evening. Leave me to get 
dressed ! ” 

My eyes, half wild with grief and astonishment, 
sought hers, but in vain ; she shunned my look. I 
took a few steps toward the door. 

“ Charlotte ! ” said she, “ give me your hand ! ” 

“ No,” said I, “ you are not worthy of it.” And 
I went out. 

I returned home with a sore heart. In the first 
grief which followed this scene, it seemed to me 
that everything was leaving me, that everything 
was giving way. I was losing the dearest friend- 
ship of my life ; at the same time I was losing the 
great interest which bound me to life again, and 
upon which I had counted to occupy and soothe my 
heart. I saw myself prevented by Cécile’s obstinate 
waywardness from keeping the compact I had* made 
with her husband. Henceforth, how should I ask 
his good-will and assistance toward a reconciliation 


178 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


to which his wife was hostile ? How should 1 re- 
veal the sad truth to him \ How should I even see 
him again ? 

At this reflection, however, my agitation was a 
little calmed. I told myself that it was impossible 
that Cécile could be so changed and hardened as to 
have become an absolutely different person from 
herself. I remembered that she had formerly had 
these fits of ill-temper and anger with me, that she 
had always been sorry for them, and that her excel- 
lent heart had quickly got the better of them. I 
hoped that it would be the same in this instance, and 
that she would come to me the next day ashamed 
and repentant. 

But I was not destined to pass the next day in 
Paris. Very early in the morning I received a let- 
ter from Mme. Hémery, Mme. de Louvercy’s house- 
keeper, who announced that my mother-in-law was 
seriously ill ; she wished to see me, and also her 
granddaughter. I forgot every other anxiety, and 
set out immediately with my daughter for Louvercy. 

My mother-in-law had an attack of violent bron- 
chitis, which had presented symptoms at first that 
had alarmed her physician. But the disease was 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


179 


quickly subdued, and a week after our arrival sbe 
was entirely out of danger. I greatly desired to 
return to Paris, but it was impossible. It was al- 
ready December, and it bad become my custom to 
take my daughter each year to her grandmother’s 
for the Christmas holidays and New-Year’s ; and, as 
we were now so near them, I had no excuse for not 
prolonging my visit till then. 

In the mean time there came a letter from Cécile 
which removed a part of my cares, but which left 
very many and very grave ones. Here is the letter, 
which will later play a great part in very unhappy 
circumstances : 

“ Cécile cPÊblis to Charlotte de Louvercy . 

“ My well-beloved Charlotte, I hastened to you 
on Monday like a poor, crazy person. The news of 
your departure has overwhelmed me. I had to re- 
turn home with this mountain resting on my heart. 
Oh, my darling, tell me we are not enemies ! "When 
you refused me your hand the other evening, it 
seemed to me that my good angel had abandoned 
me, and that I fell, I knew not where. Oh, my 
dear Charlotte, I do not believe a word of those un- 


180 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


worthy things I said to you. I beg your forgiveness 
for them on my knees. You were a thousand times 
right to blame my miserable mode of life ; but don’t 
you see that the bottom of it all is that I am unhap- 
py, frightfully unhappy ! My husband is an excel- 
lent man, full of merit and honor ; but he has one 
terrible failing — he does not love me ! I have felt 
it for a long time, almost since the first day, and it 
is killing me ! He does not ill-treat me. He is in- 
dulgent to me, but it is an indulgence that freezes 
me. He does not love me! Ah, well! What 
would you have a woman do who perceives that ? 
There is but one remedy — not to think, not to re- 
flect, to fasten bells on one’s head and feet, and di- 
vert one’s self with the noise ! And yet that does not 
always suffice ; there are moments when heart fails 
me, when I almost lose my head, when I feel that I 
am on the point of some desperate act — of a last and 
irreparable folly ! Can you not see if I have need 
of your love ! As for me, I adore you. 

Cécile.” 

This letter frightened me, not only by the disor- 
der of mind which was stamped upon it, but above 


TEE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


181 


all by the strange insistance with which Cécile, for 
the first time, complained of her husband’s faults, 
of which until then she had seemed so little sen- 
sible. One would have said that she had dis- 
covered them suddenly, as if she had taxed her 
wits to find griefs in order to create or prepare 
excuses. 

I answered her at length the same day. I tried 
to calm her exaltation by assuring her, in the first 
place, that my tender friendship for her, though 
cooled for an instant, remained no less entire and 
unalterable on that account : then I tried to prove 
to her that her husband sinned toward her only by 
excess of complacency ; that she could not seriously 
reproach him for not giving up his work, his career, 
his future, to take part in all his wife’s pleasures ; 
that she herself would be the first to blame him for 
it, and to suffer for it in her pride ; that she would 
really be nearer right if she would accuse herself of 
want of affection, since he had made so many sacri- 
fices for her, and she had made none for him : that 
perhaps — that certainly, even — in the secrecy of his 
heart, M. d’Éblis reproached her as she did him ; 
that it, depended entirely upon her to break the ice 


182 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


which had formed between them, and that I had 
reason to believe that the least effort on her part 
toward a reconciliation with her husband would be 
met with gratitude and with effusion ; that, besides, 
I had determined to destroy this sad misunderstand- 
ing between them, and, if she would only aid me a 
little, the new year that was about to commence 
would see happiness reseated at her fireside at the 
same time that she should take her station there her- 
self. I reminded her, in closing, that her husband 
before his departure had asked her to write him al- 
most every day, and I begged her to respond less 
lightly than she had before to this request, which 
eeruinly was not a mark of indifference. 

A little reassured after having sent this letter, I 
was still more so in receiving, a few days later, a 
note from Cécile, rather short, but in which she 
seemed to display a good deal of steadiness and wis- 
dom. She thanked me very tenderly. She said 
that I was right, and it was she who had spoiled her 
happiness; but she had determined to repair her 
fault ; she awaited her husband’s return, impatient 
to begin her reformation at once ; but she awaited 
him also with some timidity, because her deep at- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


183 


tachment to him had always been alloyed with a lit- 
tle fear. 

Spite of its being in singular contrast with the 
tone of her preceding letter, this language seemed 
natural and sincere to me ; and, knowing that M. 
d’Éblis was to reach Paris the following week, I 
felt myself freed from all the unhappy apprehen- 
sions which I had brought to Louvercy. 

On the evening of December 17th Mme. de 
Louvercy, my daughter, and I, had finished dinner, 
when we thought we heard a sound of bells and the 
cracking of a whip in the direction of the avenue. 
All of us listened with surprise, for we were living 
in great retirement ; except the curé and the doctor, 
who came to us in the daytime, we received no one, 
and were still further from expecting a visit from a 
stranger, as the weather was extremely severe. It 
was freezing hard, and since the night before there 
had fallen a great quantity of snow, which buried 
us in our woods and separated us from the rest of 
the world. One’s curiosity is easily aroused in the 
country. My daughter ran to the window. “ It is 
a carriage,” said she ; “ I see the lamps ; they are 
coming — they are coming ! ” I got up also ; I 


184 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


rubbed the frost off a pane with my handkerchief, 
and saw myself the black form of a carriage plow- 
ing through the snow-drifts and advancing slowly 
toward the château, skirting the frozen pond. Save 
the feeble tinkling of the bells no more was heard, 
the wheels sliding rather than rolling over the thick 
white carpet which covered the ground. 

My mother-in-law and I were asking each other 
who it could be, when the door opened suddenly, 
and we could not repress a cry of astonishment at 
seeing Cécile enter. She came toward us with her 
abrupt and rapid step, embraced her aunt, then me, 
and said to us with a nervous laugh : “ I wanted to 
give you a surprise. My husband writes that he is 
unable to return for a week ; the idea occurred to 
me of passing that week with you — and here I am, 
only I was delayed on the road by this snow. We 
were more than three hours coming from the sta- 
tion; I am chilled, and shivering — ” Indeed, she 
was shaking in all her limbs ; I was struck at the 
same time with the pallor and the change in her 
features, which I attributed to the cold she had en- 
dured and the languor which followed it. 

While her aunt was gently reproving her folly, 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


185 


and thanking her for her thoughtful attention in 
the same breath, I made her sit down before the 
fire ; then I gave orders to have dinner brought in 
for her. But she would take nothing; she had 
dined at Mantes, she told us. She began with fe- 
verish volubility to relate the incidents of her jour- 
ney, the trouble she had had to find a carriage at 
the station, and the fright of her maid in the mid- 
dle of the woods so full of snow. At times she in- 
terrupted herself, and sat still with her eyes fixed 
straight before her. Then she would hastily re- 
sume her narrative and her fits of childish laughter. 
Toward nine o’clock, Mme. de Louvercy, who was 
still ill, begged her to excuse her, and went up to 
her room. “You will do well,” I said to Cécile, 
“ to go to bed also ; you look completely tired out ; 
we will talk to-morrow as much as we like.” “ No, 
no,” she answered, “ I am recovered. Let us go to 
your room. We can chat there better than in the 
salonP 

My room was the same that I had occupied six 
years before during my first visit at Louvercy, in 
the angle tower of the château. I had preferred it 
to any other on account of the memories it called 


186 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


up for me. Besides, it adjoined that which my 
grandmother had had, and in which I had put my 
daughter. We went thither, Cécile and I, preceded 
by Mme. Hémery, the housekeeper, who carried a 
light. She turned up the wick and left us. She 
had scarcely gone when Cécile threw her hat on the 
bed and hastened to shut the double door which was 
half open. Then coming toward me with an auto- 
matic step, she fixed her eyes on mine with a terri- 
bly wild expression, placed her hands on my shoul- 
der, and said in a low and dull tone which I shall 
never forget : 

“ Charlotte — I am ruined ! ” 

A chill like death froze my veins. “ My God ! ” 
I exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, “ what are you say- 
ing to me ? ” 

“ The truth,” she replied in the same tone ; “ I 
am ruined ! ” 

I remained for some seconds utterly overwhelmed 
— motionless, speechless; then with an inquiring 
look, “ The prince ? ” I said. 

She bowed her head with a gesture of gloomy 
acquiescence. 

“ You are — ? ” I asked again, in a lower tone. 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


187 


“ Yes ! — How ? — Why ? — I know not ! — I yielded 
— without reason, without excuse, without passion, 
wretched girl that I was ! ” 

I saw that she was fainting. I supported her 
and helped her to reach a sofa, on which she sank. 
I fell on my knees before her, and, holding my head 
in my hands, I wept bitterly. 

Yery soon I felt her fingers stroking my hair. 

“ Dear, good Charlotte,” she murmured, “ you 
are weeping for me ! Ah, I was an upright woman 
before that, I swear it to you ! And to think I 
can never again be one — never ; that I have that 
stain on my forehead, that shame in my heart, for 
the rest of my life ! Oh ! is it true ? Is it possi- 
ble ? Great God, what an awakening ! — Ah, if they 
knew — if they only knew ! ” 

“ Oh, my poor, poor child ! ” I said to her, kiss- 
ing her hands. 

She drew them from me. “ Ho ! no ! ” she 
said, “ I entreat you. I am no longer worthy; I 
am dishonored and detestable ! — Ah, my God, have 
pity ! Let me go mad, I pray thee ! ” and she 
clasped her uplifted hands convulsively. 

“And now,” cried she, suddenly starting up, 


188 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“ what am I to do ? I lied to you at first in telling 
you that my husband would not be back for a week ; 
he returns to-morrow ! — to-morrow, do you hear ? 
That is why I fled — why I came to cast myself on 
you, to ask you what I shall do. I cannot see him 
again — I cannot ! He was so good to me — so good 
— and he is so honorable himself ! ” 

“ Dearest, indeed you must see him again,” I 
said, through my tears. 

“ How can I ? It is impossible, unless I confess 
all to him ! Yes, I would like to tell him all ; what- 
ever comes of it, whether he kills me or pardons 
me, I shall be released, shall I not? I ought to 
confess — you advise me to ? ” 

I made no reply. 

“ Then,” said she, getting up, “ I have only to 
kill myself ! ” 

I forced her back gently and sat down beside 
her. “ Compose yourself, let us be calm, my Cécile, 
I pray you. Let me think — let me reflect. This is 
all so sudden, so perplexing. Let us see : you ask 
me if you ought to confess your fault to your hus- 
band. Good God, I hardly dare restrain you, for 
surely it is a good impulse ; and yet I do not truly 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


189 


think it would be wise. In the first place, there are 
offenses that men never pardon ; and, then, your 
husband would seek vengeance. You would men- 
tion no names, I know very well ; but he would 
find out ; it would be very difficult to keep the 
truth from him ; and you foresee what would hap- 
pen then. Indeed, dearest, even supposing this 
danger averted, even supposing he pardons you, I 
think that confession of your fault would risk and 
even surely forfeit the little happiness that you two 
can still hope for.” 

“ And what happiness, great God, do you think 
I can hope for or can give him with the secret of 
this sin between us ? ” 

“ You alone know of this fault, at least ; and 
you, only, will suffer for it. It seems to me that 
sharing your grief and shame with your husband 
almost aggravates them, and that keeping all their 
bitterness to yourself is in itself some slight expia- 
tion.” 

“ I could not,” she whispered, shaking her head 
wearily. 

Her beautiful hair fell in disordered waves over 
her shoulders, and half covered her forehead and 


190 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


her face ; her arms hung inert at her sides ; her 
dry eyes were fixed on vacancy with a frightful 
stare. She was such a heart-rending image of abso- 
lute despair, that anything which would raise her 
courage seemed to me justifiable. “ Dearest,” I 
said to her, holding her tightly against my heart, 
“ you thought you were not loved ; that is what 
ruined you. I would not too much extenuate your 
fault, which is very great, but you are not without 
excuse ; at least you thought you were not.” 

“ Excuse,” said she, bitterly ; “ I have not the 
shadow of one ! ” 

“ Reflect ; you wrote me not long ago that it 
was the indifference, the neglect of your husband, 
that had driven you into this giddy and dissipated 
life. Reflect ! ” 

“ I lied,” she said, in a dull tone ; “ you know 
it very well. It was I who disheartened my hus- 
band ; it was I who neglected him, who preferred 
my senseless pleasures to his affection, and to hap- 
piness, and to honor! That is the truth! You 
predicted yourself whither it would all lead me. 
No, I have no excuse, not one.” 

“Well, in spite of all, nothing should be de- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


191 


spaired of. Come, do you want me to tell yon what 
I should do myself if I were at once erring and re- 
pentant as you are 2 Shall I tell you to what I should 
cling, to what sentiment, to what hope ? ” 

“ Tell me ! ” 

“ Listen : I should spend the rest of my life in 
reparation for my fault by conduct totally the re- 
verse of that which had rendered me so blameworthy 
and so wretched. I should shut myself up in my 
duty as in a cloister, win the love and blessing of 
him whom I had had the misery of outraging in a 
moment of aberration, endure every privation to 
please him, exist only for him, consecrate and devote 
myself to him utterly — do for him what a nun does 
for God himself! And then, believe me, a day 
would come when I should feel almost consoled and 
forgiven ! ” 

Her eyes glistened ; she embraced me. “ I be- 
lieve you will save me,” she said. u Yes, that seems 
possible to me. Only, I cannot think any more ; 
my poor head is no longer capable of it. Then you 
truly believe that I may see him again ? ” 

“ Without any doubt. You can, and you 
ought.” 


192 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


She looked at me with the air of a frightened 
child, adding, “ And embrace him ? ” 

I bowed assent. 

“I must leave for Paris to-morrow morning, 
then,” she rejoined, “for he arrives at four o’clock.” 

“Yes, you must, dearest. It is all-important 
that you should be there at the moment of his re- 
turn. I will take you to the station myself for the 
nine-o’clock train.” 

It was arranged thus : We were to invent a dis- 
patch from M. d’Éblis to explain this unceremonious 
departure to Mme. de Louvercy. I insisted on con- 
ducting Cécile to her room ; I helped her undress, and 
did not leave her till I saw her in bed. Worn out by 
such sustained excitement, she seemed to me calm 
and almost ready to go to sleep. I embraced her a 
last time, and went myself to seek some moments’ 
repose, which I did not find. 

'Next day, a little before seven o’clock — it was 
hardly daylight — I rose and proceeded to Cécile’s 
apartment. I knocked at the door of her room ; 
there was no response. I entered. Two candles 
were flickering on the mantel. I went up to the bed ; 
it was empty. Greatly astonished, I cast a rapid 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN, \ 


193 


glance aronnd me. All her toilet of the evening 
before, her dress, her fur cloak, her hat, were scat- 
tered about on the furniture where they had been 
laid. In a corner of the room, her traveling-trunk 
was open and the trays in disorder. I had noticed 
the preceding evening, not without some surprise, a 
light ball toilet, a dress of mauve silk, and Cécile 
had told me that Julie, her maid, had stupidly put 
it into the trunk by mistake. This dress was no 
longer there. I felt a sort of vague terror, a semi- 
stupor. I was about to ring, to call, when my eye 
was caught by a letter placed conspicuously on the 
chimney-piece, between the two lighted candles. I 
seized it ; it was addressed to me, and I recognized 
Cecile’s handwriting. I opened it, and this is what 
I read : 

“ My well-beloved Charlotte, I can never see him 
again. In spite of my sin, I am still too honest a 
woman for that. I am going to die, my poor dearie. 
Forgive me the trouble I cause you. I believe God, 
in spite of everything, will receive me kindly, for 
he sees what I suffer. I love life, oh ! so much ; 
but there is no way, you see ! 

9 


194 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“ I thought it all over yesterday evening coming 
from the station to the chateau. All along the road, 
looking at that deep snow covering all the country, 
I kept saying to myself that I would like to lie 
down in it and sleep forever. This is the death I 
have chosen. I have read somewhere that one does 
not suffer much ; that when the first shock is over 
one sleeps gently. I hope that it will he thus with 
me. 

“You know where you will find me, dearest. 
Do you remember my saying to you one day that I 
should like to be buried there? I do not believe 
that would be possible; but I want at least to die 
there. It was there that he told me he loved me — 
that he asked me if I would be his wife. Alas ! yes ; 
I was very glad to be, for I loved him so well, and 
I was so proud of his love — the love I have not 
known how to preserve and protect ! 

“Tell him everything. I desire it — I entreat 
you to. Tell him of my sin — my dishonor; but 
tell him also of my repentance, will you not ? 

“ You are the one he ought to have loved ; he 
ought to have chosen you; I always thought so. 
You, only, were worthy of him. I wish he may 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


195 


open his eyes at last ; it is my last wish. Yon are 
both of you free — and, then, if you owe your hap- 
piness to me, you will have more pity — you will 
both more readily forgive your poor little dead 

“ Cécile.” 

This letter has very often been wet with my 
tears, but it was not then. I was wild. I had no 
longer thought, nor voice, nor tears. All at once, 
the idea that every moment lost would be irrepara- 
ble roused me from my stupor. I ran to my room ; 
I called one of my servants, Jean, my husband’s old 
soldier, who had remained in my service, and who 
possessed my fullest confidence. I told him briefly 
that I had something to do in the park, and that I 
wanted him to accompany me. He was evidently 
struck with the change in my voice and the agita- 
tion of my features ; but he asked no questions. I 
got myself ready ; he was ready himself in a mo- 
ment, and we went out of the château by the stable- 
door, so as to attract no attention. 

I was forced to confide to this man all that I 
could tell him of the frightful truth. I began to 
give him on the way the explanation I had hastily 


196 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


prepared. Mme. d’Éblis, I told him, had retired 
the night before with a high fever, arising from the 
fatigue of her journey through the snow; in her 
wandering she had spoken to me of strange things, 
as if in her sleep : that her head was on fire, that 
she wanted to go out — to go into the park, to sleep 
in the snow. Unhappily I had attached no impor- 
tance to these feverish words, especially as I saw her 
sink into a sound sleep ; but this morning, when I 
went to see how she was, I did not find her in her 
room. I made sure that she was not in the chateau ; 
still other indications made me fear that her fever 
had increased during the night, and that in a fit of 
delirium she had attempted to carry out her sinister 
dreams. We should go first to look for her foot- 
steps in the retired part of the park which they 
call the Hermitage. I supposed that in her wan- 
derings she must have gone this way in spite of 
herself, as this Hermitage had always been her 
favorite walking-place. Finally, I had warned no 
one but him, because I wished to spare Mme. de 
Louvercy my fears so long as a ray of hope was 
left me. 

Jean had had at the first word an idea which did 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


197 


not occur to me : he retraced his footsteps quickly 
as far as the lodge, and sent the porter after the fam- 
ily physician. Then we resumed our march, which 
the depth of the snow rendered very difficult, and 
to me snail-like. Several roads which intersect in 
the park lead from the chateau to the Hermitage. 
We took the shortest. The surface of the snow 
was uniform and undisturbed. A little hope ani- 
mated my heart. But, at the turning of this first 
avenue, Jean, who was in advance, stopped sudden- 
ly and uttered an exclamation. I ran up, and, with 
inexpressible anguish, saw the repeated imprints of 
two little feet, of two narrow and dainty boots, 
which alone marred the uniformity of the white 
plain. We looked at each other sadly. “ Hurry,” 
I said, in a low voice, and we hastened our march 
still more. For a long time, alas! we followed 
these footsteps amid the startling stillness of the 
woods, under the gray, gloomy, and lowering sky of 
that mournful winter morning. They led us almost 
to the gateway of the park, then they turned abrupt- 
ly and lost themselves in the path which runs through 
the underbrush and comes out within a few steps of 
the Hermitage. 


198 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“ Madame is right,” said Jean to me, in a whis- 
per ; “ she is there.” He saw that I stopped and 
was about to swoon ; he begged me to lean on his 
arm. But that was impossible, the path being too 
narrow for us both. I passed by him and stepped 
forward. Yes, she was really there ! 

I have before described in these pages what this 
Hermitage glade was — its singular and poetic soli- 
tude, its groups of aged trees thinly scattered about, 
its little circular fountain, its air of a profound re- 
treat; she was there. Issuing from the path, my 
first look fell on her. Still she could scarcely be 
seen. She was wrapped in her ghastly dress and 
her laces, her head raised a little against one of the 
tall beech-trees which shade the fountain. A little 
fresh snow had fallen in the night, and covered her 
like a kind of gauze. I remember also that from 
time to time light flakes fell from the branches 
above her head, and lit softly upon her. 

I fell forward. “ Cécile! Cécile!” I knelt 
down, took her in my arms, clasped her hand, cold- 
er than the snow itself. Nothing ! Her heart beat 
no longer. The poor face was bluish. She was 
dead ! 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


199 


Ah ! poor, dear child ! It was then that I found 
my tears ! 

And yet I conld not believe it ; in spite of the 
sad affirmation of my companion, I still hoped. I 
remembered that there were some charcoal-burners’ 
sheds at a little distance on the skirts of the woods 
and the park. I told Jean to try and carry her 
there ; we could warm her — bring her back to life. 
The noble fellow, who was weeping like a child 
himself, raised her rigid form in his arms, and we 
directed our steps, I following him, toward these 
huts ! What a march ! What a scene ! This deso- 
late landscape! — this lovely dead girl, in festival 
attire ! She had put it on, I have always thought, 
from a feeling of strange coquetry, to let her death 
harmonize with her life, and also, doubtless, that 
our last image of her should remain more touching, 
more gfacious, and worthier of pity. 

While the people of the huts pressed around her 
with me, I asked Jean to run to the château and 
bring the doctor, who must have arrived by that 
time. But why should I dwell on these sorrowful 
details ? The doctor came only to confirm the ter- 
rible truth. Two hours later they bore her to the 


200 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


château. I repeated to my mother-in-law the ex- 
planation I had given to Jean, avoiding all idea of 
suicide : Cécile had had a fit of fever and delirium ; 
she had gone out in her frenzy in the middle of the 
night; the cold had seized on her and killed her. 
The feverish state in which she had evidently been 
on the evening before lent a convincing appearance 
of truth to this explanation. 

At noon a dispatch was sent to M. d’Éblis, to 
summon him in all haste ; they said that his wife 
was very ill. He arrived in the evening. Mme. de 
Louvercy and I received him, and as soon as he saw 
us he understood that it was all over. He desired 
to be left alone with the poor body, and we heard 
him sobbing long and bitterly. 

The next day but one Cécile was laid to rest for- 
ever in the little churchyard of Louvercy, next that 
very grave in which she was one day buried so full 
of life. 

M. d’Éblis remained with us the rest of the 
week. We saw very little of him. He kept him- 
self shut up in his room most of the time, or took 
long, solitary walks in the park. He was deeply 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


201 


absorbed, gloomy, and silent. He asked me no 
questions. He appeared to accept without hesita- 
tion, without a shadow of incredulity, the story I 
had invented to explain his wife’s death, and which 
I had elaborated for him with such details as were 
fittest to make it appear plausible to him. 

A month later, a few days after I had gone back 
to Paris, toward the middle of January, he came to 
see me for the first time after my return. After a 
few words of indifferent and embarrassed conversa- 
tion, he got up, came toward me, and, touching my 
hand with his finger, said to me, “ Tell me, madame, 
why did she kill herself ? ” 

This shot took me completely by surprise, and 
I could not avoid confusion in my response : 

“ What ! — but Cécile did not kill herself ! ” 

“You are concealing it from me,” he said, “you 
hid it from every one ; but I am sure that she killed 
herself ! ” 

“ You are better informed than I, then,” I said, 
“ and that is impossible ; I was there, and you were 
not.” 

“ Pardon me,” replied he ; “ but I know that all 
the details which you gave me concerning the cir- 


202 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


cumstances which preceded this misfortune are im- 
aginary. Thus, you strangely exaggerated the fever- 
ish state in which you left Cécile the night before. 
Julie, her maid, entered the room once after you 
had gone out, and found her sad and preoccupied, 
but very calm. Hearing a noise, she went in a sec- 
ond time, a little after midnight. Cécile was up 
and had put on her wrapper ; she told this girl that 
she was well, but that, being unable to sleep, she 
was going to write to kill time till she grew drowsy ; 
she seemed to have been weeping, she was very 
pale, but thoroughly mistress of her mind, her will, 
and her language — no appearance of that delirium 
which, according to you, drove her to an act of mad- 
ness. You have deceived me, clearly. Oh ! you 
have excellent • reasons for it, I am sure ; but she 
killed herself. Why ? Can you tell me ? ” 

“ Once more,” replied I, with as much firmness 
as I could muster, “ I know nothing of this.” 

“ So, you will not — you cannot tell me the reason 
of her suicide ? ” 

“ If she committed suicide, I know not the 
cause.” 

“You are unused to lying, poor woman. Yery 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


208 


well, pardon me. I do not wish to press yon fur- 
ther. Besides, I know enough of it myself. She 
killed herself the night before my return — before 
seeing me again — so as not to see me again. If it 
was thus, she did well.” 

How can I tell what was passing in my mind, 
my heart, my conscience, during this terrible ques- 
tioning? I had never had a thought of abusing 
Cécile’s last, feverish words by betraying the secret 
of her sin ; but, since her husband had divined this 
secret in spite of me, in spite of my sincerest efforts 
to keep it from him, what ought I to do ? I abso- 
lutely could not bring myself to betray and dishonor 
her who had confided in me. I said to myself, too, 
that I ought, by every means in my power, to spare 
M. d’Éblis the bitterness, the degradation, the acute 
sense of one of those outrages which to the honor 
of a man are insupportable. I preferred to tear his 
heart with a wholesome wound rather than humiliate 
him, to add to its grief, perhaps, but at least to give 
it no shame. More than all, if I let him believe in 
Cécile’s sin, he could not fail to make an active 
search for her accomplice, to discover him, to en- 
gage him in a mortal quarrel — 


204 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


“Well, monsieur,” I said, resolutely, “do you 
really wish to know it? Yes, she killed herself. 
Why ? I think I do in truth know, and you shall 
know also.” 

I opened my little boudoir writing-table and 
took out the letter which Cécile had sent me from 
Paris, after our short-lived quarrel, and a very few 
days before the fatal event. In this letter — which 
I have transcribed entire several pages hack — she 
endeavored, it wdll be remembered, to excuse her 
remissness by that of her husband ; she complained 
in the strongest terms of not being loved by him. 
With great apparent sincerity — which was, how- 
ever, only apparent, as she soon after confessed to 
me — she told me she was very unhappy, tired of 
life and of being neglected, and ended with this 
cruelly equivocal phrase : “ There are moments when 
my heart fails me, when my head is utterly lost, 
when I feel that I am ready for something des- 
perate, some final and irreparable madness ! ” 

I held out the letter to M. d’Éblis ; he looked at 
the date, then read it, and, while he did so, his coun- 
tenance writhed so that I almost repented what I 
had done. When he came to the end, his arms fell 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


205 


at his sides, and, raising his deeply troubled and hol- 
low eyes toward me, he murmured, “ My God, is 
this possible ! ” 

I dried my wet cheeks without replying. 

He read that unhappy letter over again. Anxious 
that no doubt should recur to his mind, I riveted 
his conviction by telling him that Cécile had spent 
the evening preceding the catastrophe reiterating to 
me that she was at the end of her resources ; that she 
had fled from Paris the eve of his return, because 
she could not endure the thought of recommencing 
life with him under the burden of his alienation and 
aversion. I added that I had exhausted every argu- 
ment and endearment to calm her desperation, and 
that I had trusted in my success too lightly, since 
the misfortune had happened, after all. 

“ Then,” cried he, in a choked voice, “it is 
I who have killed her ! ” He fell into a chair 
and remained for a long time with his face hid- 
den in his hands, his tears trickling through his 
fingers. 

I suffered horribly in witnessing this ; but, hav- 
ing only a choice between two evils, I felt convinced 
that I had spared him the bitterer one. 


206 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


It was evening, and late. M. d’Éblis recovered 
a little from his first emotion, got np, thanked me 
in a gentle and affectionate tone for telling him the 
truth, however overwhelming it was to him, and 
left me. 

It was two months ago to-day that this passed 
between us. The night that followed— every day 
and every night since — I asked myself if its conse- 
quences would not be what I had in no wise fore- 
seen and, I confess, still less desired. I am going 
to explain myself here with utter sincerity. The 
first impression that Cécile’s death made upon me 
was free from all personal after-thought ; it was a 
blow which prostrated me and plunged me into a 
kind of dull despair. But I should not be believed 
if I dared to say that, when time had begun to exert 
its softening influence upon me, the thought that 
my union with M. d’Éblis had become possible 
never occurred to me. Cécile’s last letter, her final 
adieu, were sufficient to recall it to me. We were 
both free, both entirely innocent of the sorrowful 
causes of our freedom. I did not feel in my own 
conscience, I could not imagine in his, any obstacle 
which could henceforth arise between us and sep- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


20? 


arate two hearts which had been so long bound to- 
gether by deep and mutual affection. 

And still, since the day when I showed Cécile’s 
letter to M. d’Éblis, to remove his suspicions, and 
when he came to believe himself the guilty cause of 
her suicide, I have been asking myself if I have 
not myself awakened in the conscience of this hon- 
orable man scruples of which I may become the 
victim. Has not his generous and sensitive soul, 
through my pious falsehood, felt the duty of expia- 
tion and, in some sort, of reparation toward her 
who is no more % 

Surely I cannot desire that! But, unhappily, 
many indications lead me to believe it — the extreme 
reserve of M. d’Éblis toward me, his rare visits, his 
enduring and even increasing anguish. 

This, then, is the truly solemn, truly heavy trial 
which I am undergoing, or which menaces me. 
And in this momentous time it is that the thought 
has occurred to me, that I have felt the need of re- 
calling to myself without dissimulation or reticence 
all the events of my life since the very day of my 
marriage. I have taken up this journal again, told 
it everything, confided all to it, hoping to find there- 


208 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


in inspiration for the course I must pursue. Alas ! 
in veriest truth I find nothing — not an act, not a 
sentiment, not a thought, which should fetter the 
freedom God has given back to me, nothing which 
should prevent me from accepting the happiness I 
dreamed of long ago, which has so long been re- 
fused me, and which finally seems vouchsafed me. 

But he ? Ah, I still hope that his attitude, his 
silence, are accounted for by the increased suffering 
I believed it my duty to inflict upon him, by his 
bereavement, which is still so fresh ; by the sense of 
propriety which actuates him. Yes, I hope this; 
but what if at last I should be mistaken ? If the 
falsehood that I have risked to save Cécile’s honor 
and spare his should rise up between us — and that 
alone separate us? What should I do then? I 
dare not think. 


Eight hours lately March 20, l^S. 

Nothing more is lacking to my burden. It is 
complete, it is pitiless. 

M. d’Éblis came this evening just as I had put 
my daughter to bed. He asked to see me alone. I 
received him in my boudoir. As he seated himself 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


209 


before me he said, “ Madame, I am going to leave 
you, I am going away.” 

“ Away ! ” I cried. 

“ Yes. I have obtained the position of second 
military attaché in Russia. I leave to-morrow even- 
ing. I shall ask your permission to return to-mor- 
row morning to bid good-by to my little pupil, 
whom I do not wish to awaken to-night.” 

I was overwhelmed. For several minutes I 
could not articulate an intelligible word. 

Presently he resumed, in a very low voice: 
‘•We have always understood each other so well, we 
two, that I am sure we shall still understand each 
other now. When you revealed to me the true 
cause of Cécile’s suicide, I understood at once, know- 
ing you so well, the duty you imposed on me. I 
understood that you bade me love and respect in 
death her whom I misconceived in life. That is, in- 
deed, what you wish, is it not ? I obey you ; but, to 
have strength to do so, I must go away, I must leave 
you.” 

I did not reply. He rose. “ Good-by, then ; I 
have loved you well. I can say that I have loved 
you more than my honor even ; for — you will be- 


210 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


lieye me vile — when I thought I had discovered Cé- 
cile’s infidelity, and that, to kill her remorse, she 
had killed herself, dreadful as the thought was, my 
wretched heart nevertheless welcomed it with secret 
joy, for it released me from her, it returned me to 
you ! ” 

As he was uttering these words, the unhappy 
man still interrogated me with a look of doubt and 
anguish. 

I slew myself. 

He grasped my hand and went out. 

But yet — let me reflect — can I let him go ? Is 
it possible ? Ought I ? Can I ? Oh, my God, tell 
me ! I have loved him so much. O God ! I do 
love him so much ! And to let him go into exile — 
perhaps to death — when by a single word I can keep 
him forever at my side ! He will believe me if I 
tell him the truth ; besides, I have that last note of 
Cécile’s ; the confession of her fault written by her 
own hand. She herself gave me permission, even 
commanded me to deliver it to her husband. Oh, 
it is unjust, after all ; and we two have sacrificed 
ourselves long enough! Happiness is there, and 
nothing separates us from it any longer but an exag- 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


211 


gerated, sickly, even mad scruple ! No, I will not 
let him go ; I have decided. 

All night long I sat up, pondering it all. All 
night long I saw the dear little friend of my child- 
hood in her bed of snow, and I swore to do for 
her what I would have had her do for me : to pro- 
tect her memory even to the end, even at the ex- 
pense of my happiness, even at the cost of my life, 
to defend her honor at any price — to leave her, my 
poor little dead girl, pure and white in the memory 
of all! Sleep in peace, darling. Only God and 
myself shall know your fault ! 

I have just burned her funereal letter — the sole 
proof. 

I have written to M. d’Éblis, praying him to 
spare me his last adieu. I shall see him no more. I 
am alone, alone forever ! 

But you are left to me, my daughter. I write 
these last lines at the side of your cradle. I hope 
some day to put these pages in your bridal trous- 
seau, my child ; perhaps they will lead you to love 
your poor, romantic mother ; you will learn of her, 
perhaps, that passion and romance are good some- 


212 


THE DIARY OF A WOMAN. 


times, with God’s assistance ; that they elevate the 
heart ; that they teach it higher duties, great sacri- 
fices, the noblest joys of life. My tears fall as I 
tell it you, it is true; but, believe me, there are 
tears which the angels envy. 


THE END. 


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